#there is the weight of zenos between them and I’m still not sure if it’s ever resolved

[impossible-rat-babies]

the kinda like. inherent divine-ness of zenos and the wol rattles around in my brain line a ping pong ball

[blindingspark]

Feather Light

Meeting in the late hours in a place between the Gyr Abanian peaks and the Empire-controlled capital of Ala Mhigo, the Warrior of Light and crown prince find themselves indulging in learning more of their adversary and companion- drawing back layers only permitted to be seen by the other.

Rating: General

Pairing: Zenos/WoL

Notes: In this house we go full throttle with touch-starved!Zenos

The arrangement had started curiously at best after their fateful second meeting across the sea in Doma; sneaking away in the dead of night beneath the nose of the Resistance with the next in line for Garlemalds throne to share in his company, even if the Crown Prince viewed the role itself as nothing more than a title and an obligation.

As the days passed, however, the prince and the 'Warrior of Light' - sworn enemies on paper and in battle- had begun to linger in the others presence more often as they learned more of the other beyond their titles, beyond the facades they wore in front of their peers; simply two souls with more restlessness than they could openly admit.

A small abandoned town within the Gyr Abanian peaks had become a secret meeting place for them, and had somehow managed to remain free from intrusions on either side of the conflict; the matter of being discovered was not an if, but a when, which hung over the two like a thick fog; oft being pushed aside with another bout of reassurances that the next time would be the last meeting, as weakly said as someone who hesitated letting another go...

"Do you know this one?" Zenos' voice, calm as a rolling wave, carried through the air in the worn church they had explored this night and to the au ra's ear, pulling their attention away from the musty old books they had begun to lightly skim through. He stood with his back to them, glancing over his shoulder before motioning with a nod of the head to the statue looming at the far end.

Their brow furrowed, walking up the aisle as they tried deciphering the figure beneath the poor lighting and untended overgrowth,

"Hmmh… Nymeia perhaps," they muttered, now standing beside the garlean prince, mirroring his stance and crossing their arms, "Watcher of the celestial bodies, goddess of fate…"

They looked sidelong up at their confidant, "I thought you would have known about them, purely for the sake of knowledge."

He hummed faintly, "Studied, aye… but I've no need to remember their every detail."

The mage nodded, their gaze lingering on him as he seemed… calm, a genuine calm that was unlike his steady, unmoving coldness upon the battlefield.

“Which of these deities have you sworn yourself to, I wonder,” he thought aloud, shifting his weight from one boot to the other, “Perhaps by true belief, or happenstance from your upbringing?”

“Curious of my past now, are you?” they mused, catching a glimpse of a smirk from him in their peripheral and running their fingers through their hair, stopping mid-stroke as they pondered, “I grew up in a household that revered the kami and one of the Twelve, though it was more out of familiarity than unquestioning worship, especially after we had left the Steppe. I had taken to studying the Twelve as a whole during my days in Kugane, however, and admittedly still only have general knowledge of them… I find them rather fascinating, regardless.”

He uttered a grunt of acknowledgement as he listened, prompting Auri to tilt their head as they looked at him and gave a teasing grin, “No biting remark about my ‘savage’ beliefs or that of my family?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” he chuckled dryly, “You and I grew up in vastly different worlds, though that is certainly unquestionable…" a pause, "I wonder what your family would say.”

Their brow perked, “About you?”

He remained silent, allowing the mage to finish ruffling their hair this time, “I’m sure they would be stunned, to say the least. We largely kept out of the way of the Empire, so learning their child has grown close with the current Crown Prince would certainly throw them for a loop.”

This coaxed a softened sound from him, “Indeed.”

“May I…” they began after a moment of thought, weighing where they stood and wondering if they were about to tread into precarious territory… “May as I ask about yours?”

A heavy silence followed, and Zenos’ gaze fell to the base of the statue; the impression that it had been some time since he had recalled such details was not lost to the au ra,

“What is there to say…? I scarce knew my dame- she grew ill and passed not long after I was born, and my sire… His Radiance, seldom acknowledged me. It was oft months between when I would see him, leaving me to learn, to train, to exist surrounded by caretakers who had no more humanity in their actions than automatons. Going about their days in idle routine and appeasing my father simply by keeping me alive and tended to.”

A chill slowly crept through Auri as they listened, watching his unbothered posture and expression as he spoke of his childhood- the myriad of emotions stewing within themselves at learning such a personal part of their companions past… slowly piecing together how Zenos grew into the man that stood before them now.

Subconsciously, their hand reached out and lightly touched his forearm, seeing his brows furrow and light blue eyes lock onto their hand- which they retrieved immediately,

“I- I’m sorry I should have…” they exhaled through their nose, craning their neck to look up at him directly, “Zenos, are you alright with touch?”

For once, they could not rightly place the look in his eyes as he lingered on them. He often shifted between staring through someone to a too-intense focus, something which still startled Auri on occasion, yet this time it seemed his mind had turned in a way he had not needed it to for some time.

Zenos yae Galvus, Crown Prince of Garlemald, terror of Ala Mihgo… lost for words.

Shifting his weight, he turned slightly to face them, reaching out to take one of their hands and after a brief moment of consideration pulled it to press their palm to his chest, his eyes moving up to meet theirs with an unusual look yet the message was clear enough to discern: action where words could not suffice.

They waited for his small nod then let their gaze fall to where their hand had been placed, splaying their fingers and feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath their palm. The mage inhaled slowly, stepping closer and reaching with their free hand to rest on his other arm, their thumb moving in a small, soothing back and forth motion as they tested the waters.

He was tense.

Their attention lifted to him and offered a look of sincerity, “If you want me to stop, tell me… please-”

“Don’t.” his voice was sharp, though not with anger as they had worried, “...Don’t.”

Nodding slowly, the mage lingered then began their gentle traversal as the garlean eased his hold over the hand on his chest, slowly running their hand along his chest and down his other arm, eventually reaching his hands; calloused yet slender, the topography of his hands intrigued them- and not merely for the fact their own were dwarfed by his if they were to compare.

They focused on one hand- his right, noting the slight padding on the palm of his fingerless gloves, briefly remembering the tale he had regaled to them about the training he had experienced in his younger days, how he had cut down his instructor who had no qualms about his goal to kill the princeling, and only succeeding after embedding a shard of crystal into his palm to force a moment of aetheric manipulation- a feat otherwise unachievable to a born Garlean. Auri's expression was somber as they recalled, holding the scarred hand as best they could and pulling it close to their face, placing a soft kiss on his palm; the sound of him letting out a trembling breath gave them pause,

“I can stop-”

He shook his head, the look in his eyes unlike anything the mage had seen in him before.

They placed another kiss on his palm after a pause, pulling their head back finding themselves tracing the tendon lines on his wrist and along his forearm, moving closer as they returned their attention to lightly grazing his frame with their hands, testing the waters and watching for signs of discomfort,

“I take it you've never been touched like this…?” they inquired gently, hands pausing in their journey and settling on his upper arms, the look on his face speaking volumes more than his words,

“No… no I have not.” his voice was strangely quiet, not carrying the usual rolling, poetic tone he often spoke with.

Another nod from the mage- deciding against pressing for more answers- and they resumed. Their fingers delicately traced the lines of his shoulders, finding themselves standing on tiptoes to reach… a streak of bravery made them pull slightly, watching him lean down at their coaxing and allowing them to explore further; Auri offered a smile, one hand now reaching his jaw and resting there while the other moved further and brushed the strands of long blond out of his face and behind his ear.

His gaze fixated entirely on them, breath slow and deep as he leaned into their touch.

Their fingers slowly brushed through his hair, feeling the silklike strands as they combed and gingerly massaged his scalp with their claws, his breathing hitching at their gentle motions. Their other hand carefully mapped out his face, taking in every detail from the height of his cheekbone to the curve of his ear, eventually brushing their thumb along his cheek and startling them from their own trance upon feeling him reach up to grasp their hand before they could pull away, turning his head to return the gesture from earlier: lips pressing to their palm and lingering.

The mage held their breath as they watched, waiting to see what he would do next as their mind steadily turned. He sighed at last, quiet as he loosened his hold on their hand and moved his head down a touch, his mouth now grazed the tendon lines of their wrist, scarcely any pressure applied,

"Now, now, your highness," the au ra gently chided as they watched him, "Bite me or draw my blood otherwise and I'll be most cross with you."

A faint smile curled his lips along with a quietly amused chuckle, "Nay, such would be poor sport from me, my friend…"

The prince lingered, his smirk fading just as quickly as it had appeared, and even through his hooded gaze the mage could see his mind turning through the gentle touch upon his cheek,

"I cannot recall the last time I felt something such as this. All my life I have gone about my days the same as the last; the morrow was merely routine outside of the occasions when I needed to deign the company of citizenry or high society with my presence. Seldom did I desire or acknowledge the aid of another even before I tended to my own wounds from training or combat, I had the knowledge and oft utilized it…"

Auri remained focused on the garlean, listening as he seemed to… wander through his thoughts and gave voice to them. It was not uncommon for him to be quiet during their evenings together, something they had assumed came to be as he only truly spoke when needed, his words purposeful through the steady drawl and flowered phrasing… such an observation made his current state all the more unusual to them,

"Curious…" he muttered after a lengthy bout of silence, earning a puzzled look from Auri even as they remained quiet, watching his steady gaze lift slightly to stare at the wall on the far end of the aged building, "Forgive me, this feeling is rather strange. I find myself hesitating, for reasons I know naught as to why, and yet..."

The au ra's brows knit together further as they listened, his words hardly carrying the steadiness and certainty they had grown accustomed to in their short time together; listening instead to the quiet, near-aimless nature of his thoughts as they were given voice,

"And yet, I find myself unable to draw back from this feeling- this sensation, as though once I let go you may simply…" Zenos trailed off again, his eyes closing again and pressing their hand more firmly to his cheek, "The thought of no longer feeling your hand upon me should I let go… it aches within me- and yet I cannot place why…"

Auri's eyes widened as they felt the crown prince tense once more, almost… trembling? A sensation so faint they doubted it came from him, yet they reached with their other hand to cup his remaining cheek, their thumbs moving in steady, soothing motions as they noted his tensing and relaxing shoulders with each hastened breath,

"Steady… steady," They uttered, never wavering in their gestures while they attempted to soothe and granting a soft smile, "I'll not vanish should I let go, I promise… so long as you would have me, I may have you as well."

They had hardly noticed the way Zenos settled upon his knees before them until they felt his remaining arm slither around their middle to pull them close, holding the au ra a bit too tight against his frame- Auri let out a small huff at the gesture and it's attempted tenderness, adjusting their own arm to rest around his shoulders for some relief; feeling him take notice and easing his hold just a touch. From this new angle, the au ra uttered a faint sigh and tentatively rested their head atop his, their thoughts turning at how their companion had revealed how starved for touch he was… perhaps how deeply he had craved painless acts of connection such as this and yet never had the thought itself cross his mind- not that they could blame him, knowing now how he had simply survived in idleness and tedium in his twenty-six summers upon this star.

"Speak your mind, if you wish," Auri muttered, feeling his grasp on their hand ease at last as he turned and rested his head upon the juncture between their neck and shoulder, a faint- if not somber- smile crossed the mage's lips at the adjustment and sighed, "Or not… you may let your actions speak for you."

A grunt of acknowledgement was all the crown prince offered in return, his other arm joining the first in holding the au ra to him and slowly easing the stark tension within his body.

They knew naught how much time passed as they embraced, an instant or an eternity simply felt the same, before the garlean at last loosened his hold and looked up to meet the warrior of light's eyes. His expression was languid as they had grown accustomed to, though his gaze carried a glimmer of… yearning, perhaps? The observation remained as such within the au ra as they reached to gently comb their fingers through his hair once more, speaking at a near-whisper,

"We should depart soon… unfortunately, time is not our companion and the company we keep will surely come looking soon enough."

His eyes closed, sighing and leaning into their touch again before he loosened his hold and stood, watching Auri pull back their hands once more- resting them on his chest instead,

"Aye, and we must play our parts a little while longer." Zenos replied, his usual drawl slipping into place once more even as his tone did not carry the usual commanding air. They soon stepped away from the other to find their respective traveling attire, a more comfortable silence filling the building they had hidden themselves in before they made ready to part ways.

The blond finished fastening one last buckle on his traveling armor when the feeling of a smaller clawed hand on his arm drew his attention, looking over to the source and seeing the rather sheepish expression on Auri's face,

"Thank you for… for telling me." They said, watching the prince linger briefly before nodding once,

"You have shown me your own scars and told your tales, telling you of my own is a fair reward."

Another smile from the mage was given, feeling the steady pat on his gauntlet before watching them turn and begin their venture, giving him one last look over their shoulder,

" 'Til we meet again…?"

"As always."

[fistsoflightning]

the deed is done

ffxivwrite2022 09: yawn v. to open the mouth wide and take a deep breath usually as an involuntary reaction to fatigue or boredom.

thancred & zaya. 6.0 MSQ, post lvl-83 duty. 499 wc.

Zaya was barely standing by the time Thancred found them again, not out of injury but exhaustion. Magnai's axe bore most of their weight as they leaned forwards to press both their hands and forehead against the craggy pommel, their attention fixed between sleepy blinks on how the trickle of blood that remained on the axe blade had left a bright red pinprick in the snow.

It wasn't Zenos' blood, but the truth was far less pleasant than the lie—one Zaya was too drained to protest.

"Hey."

Zaya jolted as Thancred laid one of his hands atop theirs, incandescently warm compared to their freezing fingers. They shook off the pull of sleep to open their eyes and lift their head, and found Thancred kneeling at their side to better place himself in their line of sight. He smiled, damnably bright for the late hour, and squeezed their hands in his.

"I understand the nap earlier wasn't near enough for you to be rested," he said, "but there are better places to sleep than standing outside the infirmary in the cold, you know. Like our tent."

Lucia had said something similar, before she stepped into the building behind them to get her answers from Urianger and Y’shtola, but the last bell or so was stubbornly hazy in their memory. Along the same general line at least: rest, and somewhere warmer.

Zaya shook their head and stood up straight, waiting for Thancred to follow suit. “Waiting,” they croaked, doing their best to speak clearly through the limitations of their own voice. “T’ say sorry.”

Thancred frowned slightly. “What for?”

Their expression twisted. Where should they start—the immediate suspicion Zaya had upon seeing her come over the hill, or the crack of her ribs when they swung the Scale of the Father too hard? Both seemed equally terrible, in their eyes.

“For tonight,” they said eventually, their hands gripping the pommel harder. It was the simplest explanation.

Thancred blinked. “Unless you helped Zenos or Fandaniel, there’s naught you need to apologize for,” he said, reaching down to tug Magnai’s axe aside and lean it on the nearby crates. “Call it a hunch, but I think she’ll be far more grateful you stopped Zenos than upset about whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Hands now emptied, Zaya reached out to grasp Thancred’s wrist. “‘ow do y’u guess?”

“She’s not the only Scion to have been puppeteered,” he answered, not bitterly like he might have done years ago. He stepped a little closer, pulled back lightly on their arm until they had tipped towards his pauldronless shoulder. “I promise it only seems so terrible because you’re running on fumes, Zaya.”

They weren’t so sure about that, but they leaned their forehead against his shoulder with a sigh anyways. “Still wan’ to ‘pologize,” they murmured, eyelids growing heavy now that they were being shielded from the cold wind.

“Later,” he said. “For now, rest. I’m sure your apology will come out better when you’re well rested.”

[midnight-in-town]

About the current (last?) arc of AnY and going full circle

Sorry if some fans already mentioned those ideas but I’ve been rereading the current arc, because it’s been quite long and the pace has its flaws sometimes, so I wanted to broaden my perspective on the story. 

First of all, as an introduction can I just say that I’m, as always, impressed by Hak’s character. He had so much cliché and shallow potential when the story started (I really used to roll my eyes at him), but he became one of my absolute favorite by how deep and strong-hearted he actually is, once he allows people behind the walls he built around him. Anyway, my love for his character & development knows no boundary. I had to say this, ok. I’ll explain why later in the post. Moving on. 

A conflict of generation

If there is one thing I love about Kusanagi-sensei, it’s the feminine touch she adds to her writing. For example, when she naturally addressed periods during the Xing arc and it fit perfectly, because that’s just how her writing goes. In this arc, it shows through the initial bold move to tell us readers about the past through the thoughts and words of a character we’ve never met, that is to say, Yonhi, Yuhon’s wife and Suwon’s mother. 

And yet, it made absolute sense, because Yonhi was the reason behind the cataclysm that eventually led to Yuhon killing priests, as well as the falling-out between him and his younger brother, Il. All along, Yonhi was the silent but pained witness to this feud, watching as the ego of two brothers destroyed everything when none of the two backed down, leading to first Kashi’s death, then Yuhon’s murder and finally Suwon’s coup. 

So, in a way, even if I think Suwon makes a far better king than Yuhon or Il, his circumstances kinda precede the logical decision to get Il out of the picture before he completely annihilated his own kingdom in poverty and war, because there is too much resentment and hatred that fueled Suwon while growing up, even if we readers know that his motivations are primarily about saving Kouka from war against the Kai Empire.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely despise both Yuhon and Il but, unfortunately for Suwon, Yona growing up sheltered and mostly unaware of the horrible truth highlights her own decisions throughout the series to be completely selfless and wanting to own up to her father’s misjudgement, rather than trying to get back at Suwon, effectively breaking the cycle of hatred amongst the royal family. 

Why the Wind Tribe kept on supporting Il when everyone else could notice that he was betting on his daughter as the reincarnation of King Hiryuu to save his country is beyond me (Mundok plz explain). Not that Yuhon was better, preaching wars, and I’m glad that Il eventually reconciled with Yonhi, telling him that he would accept Suwon’s judgement but...

...I can’t forgive him for his words. 

Like Yonhi, I’d rather he would have hoped that his conflict with his brother did not reach his children than entertaining it the way he did.

Hopefully though, now that Yona read Yonhi’s memoirs, she will work towards achieving that goal. Not that I have any doubt, since she never really managed to hate Suwon. 

Speaking of the past generation, reading the latest chapters I couldn’t help but wonder about Yona's sad dream... could it be that she inherited Kashi’s gift? Kashi did say that she had these prophetic visions since very young which doesn’t seem to be Yona’s case, but I’ll keep the idea in mind, because it’s interesting. I mean, from Yonhi’s memoirs, it seems that Kashi envisioned that the child she would have would be Hiryuu’s reincarnation (whoever the father was going to be), so Yona inheriting the same prophetic gift from her mother would make sense. 

What an ironic parallel to Suwon inheriting the Crimson Illness from Yonhi if that’s the case, am I right? 

Yona as Kouka’s next Queen

And by that I do not mean Keishuk’s plan to marry her to Suwon, because of her popularity with Kouka’s people. Obviously, the story always was to conclude in Yona getting her throne back and that’s even easier to imagine with Suwon’s disabling illness, but becoming a ruler is tough work and Yona had no real experience acting as a leader for an entire country. 

She didn’t know much before her father’s murder and, even after she became a runaway with Hak and the rest of the HHB, she finely dealt with crises affecting some parts of the kingdom but never the whole kingdom at once, like it’s doomed to happen with the war against the Kai Empire. 

So I really appreciated her stepping up when Suwon couldn’t, because that’s definitely good training and we see the results in the latest chapters:

To be fair, I always thought that Keishuk would be the biggest thorn in Yona’s side during this arc but, as many characters have said in this arc, he’s rather clever and honest about what he intends to achieve, which is why it’s not in his interests to get in the way of Yona if they share a similar goal. 

Looking forward to her facing even greater challenges. Good luck, Yona. <3

War against the Kai Empire: there is strength in unity

The Kai Empire has been depicted as the story’s big bad for a long while now and the common goal for which Yona’s faction and Suwon’s allies could unite, but I’m glad to get more specifics and new characters to explore that part of the plot.

Namely, Mei and Vall. With Chagol, they seem like the perfect foil trio to Suwon, Yona and Hak, except that Chagol seems like a real thorn in the other two’s backs, when a strong bond still ties our main trio in spite of the sad circumstances of the beginning. I particularly love the mirroring reflection between Mei and Yona...

&

...except that Mei is not at odds with one kingdom but with two and that she also deals with the Crimson Illness. :/

Now that war has started, the big threat that South Kai represents will obviously be dealt with, but Kouka kingdom will need more than its five tribes to win this. That’s where I’m sure we all expect to see old “enemies” come back, namely Xing Kingdom, since Kouren signed a military agreement with Suwon, thanks to Yona and Tao. I would bet that this won’t be enough either, but Xing are the only known allies that Kouka kingdom has. 

There is another “enemy” we know from the previous arc though, who have strong feelings against the Kai Empire, specifically about rulers treating their women badly and they are...

...Ying Kuelbo and the Tully tribe. 

The big difference between Xing Kingdom and the Tully tribe is that Suwon never met or dealt directly with Kuelbo the way he did with Kouren and Tao. The Tully tribe lost and Kuelbo ran away, betrayed and having to find a new way to take on the Kai Empire. That’s why I think the Tully tribe would eventually make for a good ally in this war: it showed good promises when Yuran and Yona got along and I think Yona understood where Kuelbo was coming from, especially now that Mei is with them and can probably tell them in details about Chagol.

Not saying this will happen soon, but since there is someone who met and fought against Kuelbo, probably gaining his respect, if this person was to seek the Tully tribe to make them Kouka Kingdom’s ally on Yona’s guidance, I think Kuelbo would give it a thought. That’s right, I’m talking about Hak, who’s currently on his way with Yoon to the Earth Tribe to fetch a drug that will not be able to save neither Suwon nor Mei, thanks Zeno for spoiling us. 

That’s what I meant when I said that Hak slowly became one of my favorite characters throughout the story. While the Sky Tribe seems to be taking bets on who between Yona and Suwon will eventually sit for good on that throne, there is a good chance that Hak will be one of the key players when it comes to winning that war against South Kai. Not that we should expect any less from the Thunder Beast. <3

To be very honest though, I expected this arc to be very tough for his character, because the truth behind Il’s death and Suwon’s coup would never be easily understandable to him (Yona’s own words, not mine): 

Yet, surprisingly he was able to at least listen and, no matter if he will ever understand Suwon’s choice or not, he decided to trust in Yona’s decision to back Suwon in the rising political issues.  

In general, I love how Hak is the least bound by the past before Suwon’s coup. He did respect Il as his king, but he did not protect Yona in the beginning for anyone else’s sake but her own. Just like Kashi once asked him to always protect Yona (which is sweet since she could see the future) but, considering he never even thought about her words once in the story, it’s likely he doesn’t remember that at all, making the choice to be by Yona’s side defined as solely his own. 

It’s this strength of his that eventually led him to say recently that he would go fetch that drug with Yoon, knowing that it was for Suwon’s sake (surprising Suwon himself), just like he will definitely fight for Kouka Kingdom, not because Yona wants him to but because it’s clearly his own desire (see ch211 where he let Yun go alone so that he could help the Earth Tribe fight):

All that makes Hak the wildest card of every agency in the plot, not simply because he’s strong and reliable and the biggest worry of the Sky Tribe, but because...

...Yona and the four dragons will never give him up.

Through Hak, Yona will be able to assert her political weight and he will be there for her, like he always was, making it impossible for their little group to lose. What a power move, I love it. 

I think I should stop there because I already rambled so much. Looking forward to the rest of the arc, it’s going to be a wild ride!! 

[linelpisffxiv]

FFXIVWrite2022 30: Answers

“Everyone else has passed,” Mneme says as they wander Ultima Thule. Repeating the journey they made a hundred and fifty years ago.

They returned to their favored form, and not Maneyo. People know who they are, it’s quite clear that’s true, even though they respect their privacy. Maneyo will be the one who returns, though.

“I’m sure you will not be surprised to realize I hardly thought of you, Zenos. Even if you pushed me to find the answer to your question by calling me something I’ve never been.”

Adventurer. Even during the five years they adjusted to this new world, they didn’t feel like one. They were learning because it was clear no one wanted to fill the shoes of those Warriors of Light who sacrificed themselves. Getting acquainted with this new land so they can best travel it as the hero they’ll be again.

“As for your answer, I suppose there have been a few times I’ve fought since then that I felt... something. Something other than boredom, despair, obligation, but it was few and far between. Rarer still was anything resembling that joy you had for the fight. I know you’re dead. Y’shtola Rhul told me about meeting the voidsent you stole and corrupted. It’s for the better, I suppose.”

The worlds are interesting around them as they continue the walk.

“That said, I did find joy. Tis a feeling I had sought for years. But you would balk at what it was that caused it.”

They laugh as they catch the winds that send them from Dragonstar to Eastar.

“I’m a bartender. I started learning a few years down the line. A way to kill time between me and my new brother’s adventures. But the focus in it, the experimentation. I never was able to taste what I made, I lost my taste five fantasias ago, when I took the form of my ideal self. Before the Seventh Umbral Calamity sent me into a body I hated.”

Still, they had no dearth of test subjects. They even managed to find the formula for Fantasia somewhere in their journeys. A secret to keep.

“I’m not the talkative sort.” Not usually, but this time, they feel like it. “But you meet many adventurers in that life. I used what I had as a slave and then hero to use. Help make it clear what the weight is if one seeks greatness. And four times now, there were people who didn’t heed my warning, or thought they could become a hero, but couldn’t handle the responsibility, who learned to regret.”

It’s the teleporter to Alphatron, next.

“I gave them their release. They were the first ones other than my brother and niece to learn the truth, or at least, the first I told such. And each time, I gave them my secret to disappearing. To finding another path.”

The crying eyes of the first to find them, the first they told, and not simply figured out. The first hadn’t intended to become a hero, and didn’t realize the line they had crossed until far too late. The Scions didn’t find them, but the Scions stayed mostly underground. It was an open secret they still operated, but like those who seemed to know who Maneyo was, no one tries to ask for their help.

But there was an organization that tried to be the Scions but open, who drafted this poor young one, barely out of adolescence. Who forced them forward with promises of riches.

That child hadn’t wanted to change their looks, but when Mneme spoke them through the process, it was interesting to see how the subtlest of changes they made were enough. A couple inches of height, a longer face, lighter eyes, and losing the freckles.

That organization was destroyed within a month. No one knows exactly what happened, but they disbanded, and the leaders never spoke to each other again.

“I like it though, this path. It brings me joy. To guide others, let them not repeat my mistakes. Let peace continue on.”

They sigh as they turn onto the crystal bridge. “I’m not sure why I came here. Perhaps to deliver my answer to you, but as I said, I hardly thought of you. Not after the first few years. Not after I found my actual passion. Perhaps it is age that has done this. A bit of fondness. You’re gone, but you deserve my answer. The cosmos at large does. I’ve avoided doing anything that a novice adventurer turned barkeep wouldn’t be able to do. I avoided leaving Eorzea at first, bought passage on ships to Thavnair and Old Sharlayan. And from there to Kugane and Doma.”

They sit down in the field of Elpis blossoms. “Only after I earned the ability to attune again as Maneyo did I let myself follow my old aether to all these places. And then after years in Ishgard, probably the place I liked the least in the past, did I choose to settle elsewhere. Old Sharlayan of all places. Sid and Rielle loved it. I loved watching them grow. Rielle’s wedding, Sid helping spread the knowledge of the Dark Knight further. It’s changed in his hands. The lessons of the way emotions work. Sometimes I call this new generation Dynamis Knights. Pain and suffering are part of the fight, but so are love, desire, joy, and protection.”

They’ rest there for some time, listening to the sounds of the emptiness of the cosmos. Songs of the dragons, humming of the Ea, even the pulses of the Omicron.

They close their eyes, down the second fantasia, and let themself become Maneyo once more.

“I needed someone to talk to. They’re all gone, but they had peaceful lives in the end on Eitherys. Found love and reproduced in some cases, continued to teach in many.”

They laugh. “It’s funny. Long ago, I was certain love and sexual desire were naught bus a social construct. While I’ve yet to feel romance and desire like that, it’s more because of who I am. But seeing friends go through that, I think I understand. I wish you could have felt it too. A joy outside of the rare hunts.”

Mneme closes their eyes and imagines their bar, the trail of aether across the cosmos back to Eitherys and Old Sharlayan.

And they’re home again in an instant.

[notchesandbullets]

The Unofficial Parents of the Happy Hungry Bunch (Zeno x Immortal!Reader)

[Spoilers for the manga, chp 100 and 101]

Words: 2.6k

"Miss! Get back!!" Zeno shouted at Yona, running to her side desperately.

Golden hair darted into your vision as you yanked your knife out of the body at your feet. Your eyes shot open as blood spurted onto your face.

"Zeno!!" You cried, reaching out for him. He made it in front of her in time, but the strike aimed for the princess pierced him instead. They were relentless, numbers pouring over the Ouryuu. Your hands covered your face in horror as the bandits continued to slaughter him, chopping off his arms.

Then, one of them sliced off his head.

"NO!!!" You screamed.

Yona was still beside you, her face as white as a sheet and Yoon was beyond horrified. The rest of the dragons had a mix of shock and anger on their faces from where they were scattered around on the ground and Hak could barely move, only his eyes betraying his fury.

You fought your way beside Zeno, lips curling back in a ferocious snarl to ward off the soldiers who had finished hacking the precious Ouryuu to pieces.

"You'll pay for that." Your eyes glowed red, you couldn't even hear Yona scream your name as you cut them down, one by one.

They were too many and their numbers overwhelmed you quickly. You spat out blood, as a sword was suddenly pushed through your chest.

You faintly heard the anguished cries coming from your comrades.

Your deranged grin made Zeno halt as his body slowly regenerated.

You... were like him?!

Your wounds closed, magically repairing itself.

"I will protect them all. What, are you scared?" You challenged them as they backed away, drawing your blades once more. "You haven't seen anything yet."

For the first time in a thousand years, Zeno was positively speechless.

You were just like him.

He leaped up with a battle cry, fighting with a fervor you've never seen before as you dashed back into battle. The two of you fought side by side until the rest of them fled, thoroughly shaken by what they've just seen. They killed you two over and over again, and yet, you both had lived.

You grinned at Zeno in victory, and then the two of you were surrounded by your group, sending you tumbling to the ground with an 'oof'.

Yoon was weeping, and Shin-ah wasn't faring much better. His mask had gotten lost in the skirmish and his beautiful golden eyes were filled with terror. Kija had thrown himself between you and Zeno, eyes puffy from unshed tears and he finally bawled, burying his head into the ground. Yona was clinging to Zeno tightly, sobbing into his ripped and bloodied clothes.

Your gaze was gentle as you shushed the boy and the blue dragon's cries, pecking Yoon's head and tenderly rubbing your hand over Shin-ah's bloodied knuckles.

"You're all adorable." Zeno smiled brightly, patting Yona's head comfortingly.

"It's okay." You reassured Yoon softly. "We're alive. We're okay."

Hak and Jae-ha were behind you, and as you twisted to look behind you, you caught sight of their relieved but battered expressions.

You and Zeno shared a look as you embraced your friends tightly. Your conversation would have to wait, the children came first.

You stood up, ushering the dragons one by one in front of you, insisting that their wounds all needed to be treated even though yours hadn't stopped bleeding. Yoon was tearfully scolding you, but it didn't have the same harsh edge to it that you've become accustomed to as his voice broke.

After you had made camp and the pretty boy was finished patching everyone up, things had calmed down a bit. You were spread out lazily next to Zeno, face staring up at the setting sun with your arms resting behind your head. His injuries had healed completely, as had yours and you were itching to talk to him.

"You guys are really lively!" Zeno beamed. The dragons, Hak, Yoon and Yona then shifted their attention on you. You nearly collapsed under the weight of their stare.

You smiled sheepishly as Hak narrowed his eyes at you. You scurried behind Zeno, as if the Ouryuu could protect you from being crushed under the Thunder Beast's glare.

Yoon walked over, inspecting Zeno carefully before moving onto you. The two of you have no trace of the battle scars that should have been left behind.

"There are no wounds or scales..." Yoon murmured.

"After some time passes, it turns back to normal skin." Zeno explained with a cheery smile.

"You two, you really won't die?" He asked quietly, almost fearfully.

"I won't die." Zeno automatically responded and you nodded in agreement.

The boy promptly faced you, and bonked you on the head. You cried out, clutching your head in pain. "Yoon~" You pouted.

"You should have said something!!" He shouted, gesturing his hands wildly. "Do you have any idea how troublesome it is?!"

"Why did you stay quiet until now?" Hak asked quietly, head still spinning a little at the revelation. You glanced down.

"Because nothing changes whether you know or not." Zeno stood up, stretching his arms up over his head. "Zeno's powers don't activate unless there's a large injury anyway."

You shrugged as Jae-ha shifted his attention to you questioningly. "I'm just immortal. It doesn't matter to me whether you know or not. I'll always be there to protect you."

You looked at every single one of them. "All of you."

"Hey," Zeno whined. "That's my line."

He looked so adorable, you could help it. You pinched his cheeks, tugging at them. "Awwww Zeno, you're so cute!!"

Your friends watched you, dumbfounded, as the fearless warriors was reduced to a pile of mush in a matter of milliseconds.

Both of them.

Zeno tickled you in revenge and you squealed, running away from him.

"So..." Yoon's eyes followed you as you sprinted around the campsite, turning to Shin-ah. "These two, huh?

He nodded silently. Hak rolled his eyes humorously. "Guess they really are the adults here."

You tripped over a tree root, and Zeno lost his footing behind you, sending the both of you crashing to the ground at the same time.

"Although, they really don't act like it." Jae-ha mused.

Kija's eyes were still sparkling with relief at the fact that neither one of you were dead. "I think it's great! Y/N and Zeno make great parents!"

The light in his eyes didn't dim as everyone turned to look at him weirdly. His face flushed bright red as realization dawned on him.

"W-Wait! I didn't mean it like that!"

It was too late though, as the poor Hakuryuu was made a target for Hak and Jae-ha's relentless teasing. Shin-ah's head was tilted to the side in confusion as he watched his brothers squabble playfully, not quite sure how to join in.

Yona giggled as she watched their antics and Zeno didn't miss the way your eyes softened as they landed on the safe and sound bunch.

"You really love them, don't you?"

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile. "Yes."

And the two of you sat in silence, watching over your friends fondly. Eventually, Jae-ha eased up on the innocent Kija, approaching you carefully.

"What's the real reason, Y/N?" Jae-ha spoke up softly. He knew there was more than what you told them earlier. Zeno's gaze snapped to yours, unsure of what you would say to that.

It appears that he wasn't the only one curious. Hak made his way over to the forming circle and Yona followed him. Shin-ah plopped down on the ground in front of you, still albeit confused, but wanting to participate in whatever was happening and Kija settled next to him. Yoon came over as soon as he put dinner over the fire, eyeing you questioningly.

They were all in front of you, forming a semi-circle in a matter of seconds and you were at a loss for words. Zeno was beside you, and he leaned over, placing his hand over yours on the ground.

"If you don't want to tell them or me, right now," He whispered in your ear quietly, "Then, you don't have to."

You shot him a reassuring smile, flipping your palm to catch his hand before he could pull away, squeezing it in thanks.

You took a deep breath, before turning to the anxiously awaiting children in front of you.

"The more people that know, the worse it is for me." You chose your words cautiously. You didn't want to give them the wrong impression if you didn't explain it accurately. "Zeno was able to blend in and get away with it because he was a dragon that served a king before he left. For me, on the other hand, I've been hunted my entire life because of this power."

You shifted uncomfortably, not really wanting to tell them about what happened after, but Zeno wrapped an arm around your shoulder, drawing you close to him. You closed your eyes as you basked in the warmth radiating from him.

"There are a lot of people out there, who want what I have. To save themselves, to save loved ones, to save innocent ones, no matter who they are they always want it once they know about it. Generals, kings, ordinary citizens, everyone. For a time, I was kept in the dark for several years as people tried to figure out how to obtain my immortality." You continued, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

You left out the part that was gruesome, they didn't need to hear about the torture that you had gone through over time.

"So, I started keeping it a secret. If it was ever out in the open, the people alive to see it would need to be terminated so that knowledge of my ability didn't spread. It was the only way to keep myself and others safe. I understand you all must be upset," You winced as you were met with varying reactions. "But please try to respect why I chose to do what I did. I did not intend to hurt you by keeping this from you."

Shin-ah's head was bowed, and you couldn't see his facial expression, but his hands were clenched tightly in his lap. Jae-ha was shaking with what you assumed was anger, and Yoon was outright crying. Hak wasn't mocking the boy like he normally did, instead he was staring right at you, a turmoil of emotions swirling in his cobalt eyes. Yona's pleasant features were murderous and you were almost taken aback at the depth of rage manifesting there. Kija's mouth was pressed in a hard line, his dragon claw tearing his clothes at the force he was gripping them with.

You looked away guiltily, unable to keep eye contact with them knowing that they were upset with you. Needless to say, you were shocked when they all jumped on you.

"Y-You idiot!" Yoon reprimanded, throwing himself down in your lap so you couldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes.

"You endured so much pain!" Kija wailed, face filled with torment. "I am so sorry, Y/N!!"

"Did you think we would expose you?" Jae-ha asked, seemingly calm, but you recognized the insecurity in his eyes. You shook your head, smiling at him reassuringly. He didn't feel any better.

Shin-ah dropped to your side, face buried into your shoulder.

"Shin-ah?" You called softly, hoping to jolt him out of whatever trance he was in.

"You..." You strained to hear him. "You didn't deserve that." Shin-ah finished quietly, but firmly.

"He's right." Hak rested his chin on your head, making you sputter indignantly. "You didn't deserve what happened to you. We understand why you chose to keep it from us." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and your shoulders dropped as the tension eased from it.

"Yona?" You piped up timidly, realizing that she had yet to say anything.

Her shattering sobs was all the answer you got, and you wrapped an arm around her, rocking her gently. That sent the rest of them spiraling down, unable to take it anymore.

Shin-ah and Kija broke down, with Yoon furiously trying to wipe away the tears still streaming down his face. Jae-ha was desperately attempting to retain a semblance of control, but failed miserably. Your hair grew damp and you realized it was coming from the ex-general above you.

You tucked your face into the crook of Zeno's neck, and he rested next to yours, unshaken by Hak who continued to remain perched on top of you. Your breath was even against his skin, and Zeno resisted the urge to shudder. He was so angry when he heard what you had been through, but your comfort was more important than his feelings at the moment. He knew you didn't need to know his vengeful streak just yet, but he was for sure going to gather the rest of the dragons and Hak to avenge what had been done to you.

Zeno had no doubt they'd all agree.

You were too precious to all of them.

He knew you had promised to protect all of them, even him, but not if he got to it first.

It was true though, you had all eternity to duke it out with him. But somehow, his fate now seemed a lot less lonely when he pictured you in it.

Zeno smiled softly, looking down at where you were resting, fondly.

I'll keep you safe, Y/N. No one will ever hurt you again.

Bonus:

"Come at me." Zeno's blue eyes flashed. "I have all the time in the world."

"Me too." You said seriously.

"Y/N, you have to say something else." Zeno instructed, squatting down beside you, losing all the fire he had a second ago. "That's not very threatening."

"Stop patronizing me!" You whined childishly.

"YAH!!" Yoon whacked you both over the head with a wooden spoon. "STOP SCARING TONIGHT'S DINNER!!"

You were apparently terrorizing the nearby forest animals, practicing your slogans so that in a battle, you had a handful to pick from. Yoon was not impressed with your idea.

You shot him an innocent look and Zeno copied you. He glowered, and you shrunk back from his angry gaze, hiding behind the Ouryuu. Zeno chuckled, casting a look over his shoulder to see you staring back at him wide-eyed.

The array of animals before you had absolutely no idea what was going on and you were not going to try to explain it, lest you would get scolded at by mother again.

You grinned mischievously at Zeno as Yoon turned away and the animals all scattered, using the distraction as a diversion to escape.

"What say we practice on a bit more of a likely audience?"

Zeno laughed after as you bounded off into the night, doubling over at his stomach as he distinctly heard Jae-ha cry out and the scuffling that followed. It would appear that you had made contact with your target.

He couldn't keep the smile from stretching across his face as he heard his earlier words being repeated by you, only to have the Ryokuryuu reply, "Isn't that Zeno's line?"

If the thump that shattered the silence was anything to go by, Zeno was guessing that you were less than pleased with his answer. He traveled towards the sound, and found you hunched over a now distraught Jae-ha.

He really wouldn't mind eternity if it was with you.

Thank you... Zeno thought silently, sending a prayer up to the heavens. Thank you for Y/N, I'll treasure her forever.

[autumnslance]

What I’ve actually been working on for a bit over a week, now that the Zenos brainworm has been evicted. Back to Stormblood 4.0 and two besties having a post-sparring chat about current crushes and past regrets. Below the cut for those who prefer Tumblr to Ao3:

--------------------

Lyse and Aeryn fell on their backs onto the palm of Rhalgr, laughing as their early morning sparring session ended in a draw.

“Maybe we got a little carried away...But you have to admit that was fun,” Lyse said, lolling her head in Aeryn’s direction. “You’re getting better at hand to hand.”

“C’oretta’s been putting me through my paces. Got to keep up with her energy,” Aeryn replied, staring at the now-blue sky, the sun high enough over the mountains to have burned away the last of the early morning colors.

“I should practice with her more then,” Lyse said. “When we’re done with...all this.” She vaguely waved her arm, before letting it flop back to her chest. She kept watching Aeryn. “So what are you going to do once we’ve saved Krile and freed Ala Mhigo?”

“Nap,” Aeryn said immediately, setting off another round of giggles from them both.

“Oh-kay, that’s fair. But after that? Or maybe before?”

“If you’re going fishing you’re going to need actual bait, Lyse.” Aeryn turned her head enough to grin at her friend.

Lyse grinned back and rolled to her side, propping up on her left elbow. “I’m just asking, if there’s anything--or anyone--you’ve been thinking about.”

Aeryn frowned for a moment, looking to the sky again. “...Not particularly.”

Lyse wrinkled her nose. “You’re a terrible liar. C’mon, Aeryn, you can say it.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, her hands briefly gesturing from the wrist only before dropping back to their resting spots on her stomach.

“Right, because you didn’t spend half our time in the Far East writing letters to and talking and thinking about certain charming rogues.”

Aeryn didn’t reply, her brows drawing down as she frowned more.

“Aer-yn.”

“What do you want, Lyse?” Aeryn sighed, turning now to mirror Lyse, propped on her right elbow.

“For you to admit whatever’s going on in your head concerning—”

“Oh don’t—”

“Thancred,” Lyse finished. At Aeryn’s wince and blush, she grinned again. “Aha-ha! I’m right, I knew it.”

“We’re friends—”

“So are you and a lot of other people, none of whom make you look like that.”

“...Like what?”

“You’re not just blushy, you’re...I dunno, like someone’s knocked the wind out of you, but in a good way. Your eyes practically glitter when you’re looking at him. Which is a lot when he’s around, by the way.”

“You’re exaggerating. Also we’ve seen Thancred for a whole, what, half a bell since we returned?”

“I know what I saw. What I’ve been seeing, every time you got a letter. Or wrote one, for that matter; you even write to him differently than you do to Rashae or anyone else.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes, but the blush had deepened and crept up her ears and down her neck. “You know I don’t--It’s not that easy--I…” she frowned again, trying to organize her thoughts, but from the thoughtful little crease between her eyes, Lyse knew Aeryn was now truly considering it.

“And you believe you messed up with Haurchefant,” Lyse said quietly. Aeryn didn’t respond. “That’s why you don’t realize what’s been happening.”

“And what, pray tell, has been happening?”

“You acting like a besotted schoolgirl, that’s what.”

“I am not.”

“Oh yes you are. And it’s adorable.”

“Take that back.”

“I shan’t,” Lyse replied in sing-song. Her smile quickly faded and it was her turn to sigh. “I didn’t want you getting involved with him when you first joined the Scions, you know,” she mused. “One, I knew you weren’t interested, and two—well, I’d known Thancred too long.” They both snorted and giggled again.

“But,” Lyse finally continued once they’d calmed. “You two have always had a rapport. You got to be pretty good friends, and I don’t know, it seems like with everything since finding me and Papalymo again, and then after Minfilia left...It’s become something else and it’s...nice.”

Aeryn didn’t answer right away, staring at some spot on the stone palm between them, and for a moment Lyse began to think she had definitely overstepped when Aeryn finally replied, very quietly, “It feels nice.” She frowned and looked at Lyse again, her grey eyes dark. “Things have changed but I don’t know that it’s,” she stopped and thought for a moment. “I don’t want to...ruin anything.”

“I have a hard time believing you could ruin anything, even if you tried.”

“You’d be surprised,” Aeryn said, rolling onto her back again. “I tried relationships when I was a girl in Thavnair. Twice. Neither worked out because...well…”

“You don’t like sex.”

Aeryn winced at Lyse’s bluntness. “It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just...not something I look for. It’s fun in the moment, but not a priority. And for a lot of people…”

“It’s important,” Lyse said. “So you think any relationship is doomed because you don’t have the same wants as other people?”

Aeryn nodded.

“Hrm. Well, I’m no expert, but seems to me that’s one of those things you’d just have to talk about. That whole being adults...thing.” Lyse waved a hand again, gratified by Aeryn’s small smile in response. “Which you likely just weren’t experienced enough for all those years ago, right?” She paused, frowning. “Orrr, is this also about Haurchefant?”

Aeryn covered her face in her hands and made a frustrated noise. “Gods, if I could purge those rumors and stories and the damned songs about that…” She sighed again and let her hands drop to her chest. “It...was sort of like those earlier attempts. He was kind, and I knew how much he cared for me, and I guess I...tried to reciprocate. Confusing his feelings for mine, maybe? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“You mean because of the Echo?” Each Walker’s Echo was a little bit different, and Aeryn’s made her especially empathic at times, Lyse knew.

Aeryn nodded. “Probably didn’t help that everything after Ul’dah was just...I was lonely, and scared, and I thought…” She shook her head. “I was stupid, and before I could apologize and fix it...Well.”

“You are far from stupid.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make stupid mistakes.”

“Well, sure. Still, you couldn’t have messed up that badly.” At Aeryn’s cringe, Lyse raised a brow. “Come on.”

“I did sleep with him—once.”

“Really?” Lyse rolled onto her stomach, chin propped in both her hands.

Aeryn rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t...It was a stressful day.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Your idea of a stressful day is different from other peoples’.”

“Fair.” She grinned at Lyse. “I had to babysit Emmanellain de Fortemps.”

“All right, that does explain a lot.”

“He got himself kidnapped by the Vundu…”

“Of course he did.”

“I went ahead, while Honoroit ran back to get aid--so, Haurchefant and a couple Haillenarte knights--and that was the day we learned about Bismark, as Cid rescued us with his ever-exceptional piloting before we were eaten.”

“That is a stressful day, even by your standards.”

“We stayed the night at the Rosehouse, there in the Sea of Clouds. Haurchefant came to my room--he claimed he had some nightmare that I had gone to fight the primal and had to see if I was all right; an irrational concern--”

“I don’t know, it’s what you do.”

“Well, yes, but not--anyroad, we spoke, and...held one another; not uncommon. But I felt as though something in me just...broke, and I wanted...I don’t know. Comfort? Closeness? ...I fear I may have simply used him…”

“I doubt that,” Lyse said gently. “You cared for him, right?”

Aeryn nodded.

“Well there you go. You had a vulnerable moment like any of us mere mortals,” she ignored Aeryn’s latest eyeroll. “It happened. And given what I’ve heard of Haurchefant, it couldn’t have been that terrible.”

“It wasn’t! But...As soon as he left—had to ‘protect my reputation’ or whatever—I realized...I didn’t,” Aeryn huffed as she paused in thought again. “I loved him, but not...like that. I couldn’t give him what he wanted.”

“And what’d he say to that?”

“That’s the thing; we never got to talking about it. I...avoided him for a bit after that, just to get my own head straight, think about what I wanted to say and why...and then we went on our mission to Dravania, and then it was just one thing after another and…” Her voice cracked. She took a breath and shook her head. “I regret not taking the opportunity to be honest with him.”

“Makes sense. And I can see why you’re hesitating to open up like that again. You’re afraid what you’re feeling is a reflection of Thancred’s feelings.”

Aeryn made a face. “I wouldn’t go so far as to presume what he feels—“

“I would,” Lyse stated. She smirked at Aeryn, then shrugged. “Before I would have said this is one of his fleeting infatuations. Buuut I’ve been watching since we rejoined you all in Mor Dhona, and he’s been...different.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well if I didn’t know better, lots of what I hear about how he behaved, up ‘til about Papalymo and I got back to the Toll, sounds like he was flat jealous.”

“Of what?”

Lyse scoffed. “Of other people being interested in you, of course. Not that you notice that ever. There’ve been talks he and I have had, where I look back and realize there were multiple meanings going on and I hate that he can’t just talk plainly like a normal person, but anyway the biggest one was when we did see him briefly in Castrum Oriens before he went off to find Krile.”

“He seemed normal to me,” Aeryn said, though she was pointedly not looking at Lyse.

Lyse recalled how Thancred had turned and smiled, his shoulders lifting as if a weight had been removed from them; not unusual in anyone, really, when the Warrior of Light walked by, but something about Thancred had lit up from within, and his uncovered eye had practically devoured Aeryn head to toe before simply settling on her, like someone basking in a sunbeam in the bath. In all the time Lyse had known him, he had never looked at anyone like that. And Lyse had known Thancred through some of his earliest attempts at relationships, when the experiences and emotions were all new (and Yda had teased him so much back in those days, before Lyse herself really understood what was happening), as well as more recent ones as an adult he had no real serious interest in.

“Well, he wasn’t normal,” Lyse said, uncertain how to explain it all out loud. “Neither were you, for that matter. If you’re acting like a schoolgirl, he’s just as bad.”

“Ugh!” Aeryn sat up, wincing a little, resting her arms on her half-drawn-up knees. “I still say you’re exaggerating.” She looked away. “...And given my Echo, it’s possible just one of us reflecting off the other.”

Progress, of a sort. Lyse sat up too. “I still say I’m not, and I don’t think so. Know how I know?”

“How Lyse?” Aeryn glanced at her friend, brows drawn into a helplessly annoyed expression.

“The way you were in the East when he was nowhere around,” Lyse reminded her. “Writing him letters, and excited to get his personal reply along with the reports. You wouldn’t even realize you were mentioning him, or telling stories, and the way you sounded and looked when doing so. And I know you were thinking about him other times, too.” She smirked as Aeryn went crimson again.

“...Fine. Maybe. It’s still...weird and makes no sense and doesn’t mean anything.”

“Means a whole lot, actually. You did say earlier that it felt nice.”

“Yes but...He’s a friend, and a colleague, and he...well…” Aeryn made a helpless gesture.

“Oh no; use your words!”

Aeryn let out an exasperated noise. “I don’t want to make the same mistake again,” she blurted finally.

“So, don’t,” Lyse shrugged, chin on her hand, elbow propped on a knee. “You know what went wrong with Haurchefant, and those others when you were younger. Thancred’s a smart man, and more considerate than he lets on. You can figure it out.”

“I don’t know that I should. It may not be a good idea, given...everything.”

“‘Everything’ like what, exactly?”

“Like, that we live and work together as Scions. That we’re in the middle of a war--which, by the way, we really ought to be meeting the others--and just…everything.”

“You mean being the Warrior of Light.”

Aeryn sighed. “Gotta admit, there’s a lot of...a lot, with it. Most of it I don’t even want.”

“Or it’s all the more reason, given who else outside the Scions really knows what you do?” Lyse shrugged as she got to her feet and stretched. “Food for thought, at least.” She reached down to offer Aeryn a hand up. “I think it’s a good idea, for the record,” she said as she hauled Aeryn to her feet and into a hug. “But that may be because I want to see my friends happy.”

Aeryn returned the embrace. “Thanks, Lyse. Let’s get cleaned up and meet the others.”

She was deflecting again, but that was all right; she was at least thinking about it now. Lyse nodded in agreement. “Thanks for the practice; I know I feel better.”

They negotiated the massive stone wrist and forearm to reach the entryway back into the old temple, then down the long, twisting stairs to the base. On emerging from the old door at the literal foot of the statue, they were met by Resistance runners delivering updates on matters in the Lochs, and a request from General Aldynn to return as soon as possible now that Alisaie and the other injured were safely in the Reach.

Lyse sighed as the runners left to make their next deliveries. “Guess cleanup can wait. If we teleport to Ala Ghiri we can meet Pipin and the others there and head to Praetoria together.”

“Good thing it has to wait, since Naago’s already there,” Aeryn said, a sly smirk on her face as Lyse stumbled.

“Wha—? I don’t know what you--Since when did she okay you calling her that?”

“I’m just pointing out that you call her that. Often. And I’m thinking maybe she can help you clean up since you’re so familiar.”

“Aeryn!” Lyse gawped.

“What?” She asked, all fake sweet innocence, hands clasped behind her back as she rocked on her toes.

Lyse peered. “Maybe you do notice more than you let on,” she muttered. Then shook her head. “I’m the Commander of the Resistance now, which means Na-M’Naago is my subordinate--don’t you dare!” she threatened, wagging a finger as Aeryn bit her lip, though that did nothing to suppress her giggles. “And it...it wouldn’t be proper or professional or...or something…” Rhalgr’s sake, now Lyse was the one feeling hot and blushing; her skin must have nearly matched her dress.

Aeryn patted Lyse’s shoulder as she buried her face in her hands. “I think no one’s going to care.”

“You know what? I take it all back; you’ve obviously spent too much time with Thancred already. Any more and it’s irresponsible levels of corruption.”

Aeryn laughed. “Don’t poke if you can’t handle getting poked back, Lyse!” She wrapped her arm around Lyse’s back and gave her a quick hug. “Though I do think you two are cute and I definitely know what I’ve seen is not me projecting,” she stage-whispered, grinning.

Lyse side-eyed her, trying very hard to be grumpy. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend and I love you or I’d kick your arse so hard right now.”

“Like you didn’t half a bell ago?”

“That was a draw! I could have had you!”

“Probably!” Aeryn sang, adjusting so they were walking arm in arm as they crossed the Reach toward the aetheryte.

Lyse grumbled, but couldn’t help smiling, too. This had been a nice reprieve from everything else going on before the final push to Ala Mhigo, and hopefully saving Krile along the way.

Alphinaud joined them at the aetheryte, grinning in that cheeky way he had when he had gotten the last word in on his and Alisaie’s latest verbal spar. Just to playfully annoy him, Lyse lightly punched him in the arm while Aeryn ruffled his hair before she initiated the teleport to Ala Ghiri for all three of them, to get back to the business of the war.

Despite that, Lyse knew that at some point in all this mess she was going to have to catch and play Little Sister to their resident sneak and probably just straight up bully him into admitting what he was thinking and spur him to do something about it. These two idiots would be happy one way or another, dammit, if Lyse had her way.

And if nothing else it might distract them from Lyse’s own love life issues. One could always hope, anyroad.

[catte-bard]

Heart’s Desire

(A scene that’s been in my head for a while about the rocky start to Bel and Thancred’s relationship.)

@ffxiv-writers

The last few days had been long and exhausting.

So much occurring in such a short span of time. Taking Castrum Oriens, trekking out to Rhalgr’s Reach, having to fight the bloody crowned prince himself.

And then was Y’shtola...

If Bellona wasn’t already certain she was awake, she’d assume it was all a terrible dream. 

Her body was sore. Her limbs felt heavy. And her chest ached with the need to sob. All she wanted now was the comfort of a warm bed within the safe walls of the Rising Stones. 

To close her eyes and forget all that had occurred...if only temporarily. 

“You don’t have to escort me, you know.” She quietly told her companion. 

She only meant to travel from Rhalgr’s to the castrum. The trek wasn’t very long and most of the wildlife seemed content with leaving travelers alone as long as they kept their distance. But she still made sure to keep her bow within easy reach. 

“A gentleman never allows a fair lady to walk alone at night.” He simply replied. 

Despite her lousy mood, that managed to get a smile out of her. There were very few people in Eorzea who would think to cause trouble for her. Few corners of Eorzea where her reputation was not known. 

They were traveling in East End now and most of their journey had gone by uninterrupted. She doubted anything or anyone would cause them much trouble this close to an Alliance encampment. 

“I’m quite sure I can handle a few beasts and bandits.” She told him.  “Asides, there have to be a myriad of other more lovely maidens that you’d rather be spending your time with tonight.” 

Though in truth, Bellona was glad for the rogue’s company. She put on a brave face, but the twist in the day’s events had greatly shaken her. The Reach’s chirurgeons had advised her to stay put and rest. But the miqo’te had grown restless in the infirmary. 

And so she had left, at first intending to simply pace around the Reach for a while. But everywhere she looked, she was reminded of the attack. Reminded of her fight with Prince Zenos, and her wounds would begin to ache again. 

Thancred—the damnable rogue—had of course seen her slipping out. And he insisted on accompanying her. Claiming that he was heading back to Mor Dhona himself. He didn’t voice it, but she knew it was because he was worried.

Everyone was worried after seeing what Zenos was capable of. And the fact that Thancred had been the one to pursue her warmed a small part of her. She was glad for his presence. 

Thancred chuckled.  “I don’t doubt there are many a pretty maidens who long for company this night. But there are none that I’d rather spend time with more than you.” 

That surprised her. It shouldn’t have; Thancred was a friend. Of course he’d want to spend time with her over a stranger. 

“Well regardless there’s no need to worry over me.” Bellona assured him. “Today’s events have been terrible but I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

However even as she said this her foot happened to catch in a root unseen in the darkness. And with a very unWarrior of Light yelp stumbled clumsily, losing her balance. But before she could make an embarrassing fall she felt two strong arms catch her.

“What was that about not needing an escort?” Thancred’s voice was laced with amusement. 

Bellona felt her face burn with embarrassment and indignation. Of course it would be her luck! And knowing Thancred, he would never let her live it down.

“I only tripped.” She grumbled.

“And here I thought all miqo’te were of impeccable balance.” He teased further. 

He was close.

Strong, tawny arms held her against his chest, cradling her as if she were some swooning maiden. His face was mere ilms away from her own. 

Thancred was a rather handsome man. The thought occurred to her as her gaze flicked over his features. His roguish new look was starting to grow on her. Even that silly bandana he insisted on always wearing was starting to seem charming.

Her eyes met Thancred’s gaze, finding a tenderness there. He smiled fondly at her, seeming captured within a reverie of his own. Had he always looked at her like that? So...warmly? 

It tugged at something within her. An odd emotion... 

However, she quickly pushed it down, something within her fearfully flinching from it. Clearing her throat she found her footing again, pulling herself from Thancred’s arms. 

“We shouldn’t linger here for too long. I remember Lyse saying that the bears were bold around here.” She awkwardly mumbled.

Thancred blinked, seeming hesitant. Another strange expression on his face. However, whatever was on his mind he bit back.

"Right." He agreed quietly as he followed behind her.

Quiet had fallen over them then as they continued their journey. A tense and awkward kind. Thancred seemed to have fallen back into his old habit of brooding. Stewing in silence over something. Every time she glanced his way his face was drawn and he seemed deep in thought.

Twice she thought about prodding him for what was on his mind. But found her own tongue heavy. And her own mind troubled; still wrestling with the strange feeling trying to bubble up within her. 

The heavy silence seemed to make the trip to the castrum stretch on longer. Or perhaps she merely misjudged the distance?

“So what happened to your eye?” Bellona eventually managed, hoping to break the strange silence that had fallen over them. “You never told me. Get into a fight with a nutkin?”

Her friend’s new accessory had her curious ever since they first reunited in Dravania. She never thought to properly ask him about it. And opportunities had always been stolen away by duty’s call.

Thancred perked, whatever clouds in his mind parting. “I think the mystery of it makes me seem all the more dashing. Would you like to see it?” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Bellona paused mid-step, her face scrunched into a grimace, but the morbidly curious part of her did perk up. “As long as it’s not...gross or anything.” She told him.

“Worry not, the injury has long since healed, so no puss or rotting flesh or anything like that.” He said as he reached up to undo the sash.

A gasp was already on her lips as he pulled it away, however it stopped short when she saw...just an ordinary eye hidden behind. She frowned, confused for a moment. And Thancred seemed rather amused by her bemusement. 

With a chuckle he stepped closer, leaning down towards her. “Here, look.”

For a few seconds, Bellona wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be looking at. Her gaze must have looked over his features three times before she finally noticed. His eyes—they were two different colours. The left eye was almost like Y’sthola’s—pale and grey.

It was an endearing look for him in a strange way. Made him look more mischievous which matched his nature as a rogue. 

But she also felt a pang sympathy for him. “Does it...hurt?” Without thinking, Bellona reached up to touch his face. 

And as her fingers brushed against his cheek, Thancred winced causing her to jump. However, a smirk quickly broke out across his face and he winked at her. “No it’s fine. See?” He took her hand, guiding it back up to his cheek. His skin feeling soft and warm under her fingertips.

 Bellona could feel her own cheeks growing warm. She prayed Thancred didn’t take notice. 

“I can still see out of it...the light bothers it and sometimes I get headaches. But it’s nothing that has been too debilitating. I’ve learned to get used to it.”

“How did it happen?”

Thrancred shrugged. “Perhaps, a side effect of Y’shtola’s Flow spell. Prolonged exposure in the Lifestream can’t be the healthiest thing.”

Her thumb absently brushed across his cheek. At the back of her mind, Bellona scolded herself for it. However, Thancred seemed not to notice or mind the gesture. 

He’d changed much since the last time they’d seen each other. This half-wild man before her was a far cry from the scroudral of a bard she had departed from in Ul’dah. There was a new hardness to him. A new weight he carried on his shoulders.

“Well I’m just glad you came back to us safe in the end.” Bellona said. 

His thumb brushed against the back of her hand. The gesture sent a tingle through her.

And there was that look again...That soft, fond look he gave her. “Would you believe me if I said that it was the thought of you that kept me going when I was out there?” 

The sudden confession left her speechless.

His hand slowly wrapped around hers and he closed his eyes. Leaning into her touch. "Every moment I doubted I would survive—that I would see my friends again. The mere thought of your strength, your conviction, even your smile gave me enough reason to keep fighting."

"Thancred…"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was a long pause between them, a heavy silence hung in the air. Something far too soft—far too filled with longing in both their gazes to be denied. And they both could sense it. 

And perhaps that’s why it happened.

When Thancred leaned down, Bellona leaned against him, catching his lips against her own. Rough, calloused hands were gentle as they held her. As if she were something softer and more delicate than the warrior she was.

Her hands roam over his chest, resting over his beating heart. Her own racing along with it. It felt good in his arms, safe, warm. She had forgotten how good it felt to be held like this. And in that moment the weight of her travails lifted from her. All felt good and right.

But...

Bellona pulled away from him, her eyes squeezed shut.

What are you doing?

“I shouldn’t have done that.” She whispered. 

She hadn’t been thinking when she’d done it. Only hearing her heart thudding in her ears. Listening to the intensity of the emotions rushing through her body. And it had been a mistake. A foolish, stupid, mistake.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that…” She mumbled again and stepped away, feeling as if her face had been bathed in Ifrit’s fires. Good gods, why did she do that?!

She felt a nauseating knot twist her stomach. Oh how she wanted to die on spot right then and there. Wanted to run away and hide somewhere. 

“Bel…” Thancred breathed, his voice lace with astonishment. “Bel it’s fine.” He gently takes her by the shoulders.

His mere touch sends levin through her body. It sends her heart racing. “N-no it’s not.” She argued. “That wasn’t appropriate of me.”

And he laughed. The sound warms the air around them. “How is it inappropriate when I feel the same way?”

What? At that, her cheeks felt even hotter. She looked back up at him, searching his face. He was giving her that look again. That soft, loving look.

He meant those words.

“You...do?” Bellona blinked. She could feel herself shaking. 

“I do.” His voice just above a whisper. 

She was speechless. 

Is this what had been stirring within her since his return? This strange feeling tugging at her heart? That flutter whenever he looked at her a certain way?

How had she been so unaware of her own emotions?

And when did her heart become so soft and so easy to enchant? 

She should’ve realized what it was. And perhaps she had known all along what it was but had just been too afraid to acknowledge it. Because it felt too soon after Haurchefant. Because it felt like a betrayal to him.

Because she was scared of feeling that heartbreak again...

Love stung. And she swore never to trust it again; yet here she was...being a swooning fool again. Enticed by its seemingly harmless appearance and forgetting its barbs.

She looked up at Thancred. Why him? Why did it have to be him? And why now?

“Have I perhaps misread something?” Thancred suddenly sheepishly asked, noticing her distress.

Bellona winced, hating the pained note in his voice. Hating the pained note in her own voice. “No it’s fine...I just.” The words came to her slowly. What? What was wrong with her feeling this way? 

Thankfully, the buzz of her linkpearl saved her from having to finish her response. 

Giving Thancred an apologetic look, she quickly answered it. “Yes? O-oh, Alphinaud.” She did her best to keep the trembling of her emotions from her voice. “Yes...I'll be there shortly.”

The call ended, she looked sheepishly at Thancred. He still waited for an explanation for her reaction. Something she wasn’t ready to explain yet.

“I have to go.” She mumbled.

Disappointment fell across his face. “Of course.” He replied.  “I suppose I should get going as well…”

She hesitates. “We’ll talk about this later…” 

That seemed like the appropriate response. And Thancred seemed to accept it. Albeit reluctantly.

“Later then.” He nods.

If he had anything else to say, Bellona didn’t allow him the chance. Quickly turning away and walking off before he could. Mentally scolding herself as she went.

Her heart didn’t stop racing for a long time.

[adulttrio-imagines]

Yandere!Illumi x Reader Pt 2

Part 1 here

A/N: Standard Illumi warnings and more apply here. 

Prompt:  “I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.”

It is difficult to recount the weeks that happened after the incident. As if the switch in your brain was flipped off, and the single light bulb illuminating the empty crevices of your mind was unscrewed and tossed out. You remember floating in and out of an endless sea of fog, drifting aimlessly as you wandered around the shattered remnants of your brain, slowly piecing whatever fragments you could scavenge from the brief moments the fog would clear.

It should be scary. You remember thinking, as you stared blankly into your hands, numbly repeating the simple motion of opening and closing them, counting each broken finger that curled into the palm of your hand, the bloodied crescent moons they leave on your skin greeting you when you forget and apply too much force.

But it isn’t.

Some days you forcefully push the fog clouding your mind away, and you awaken chained to the bottom of the ocean, anchored and weighed down as you push yourself through the freezing depths, dumbly dragging your feet through coarse sand and shards of glass as everything gathers around you in shapeless masses, their slurred voices reaching you in meaningless bubbles.

You kiss the high ridges of your knuckles, falling back into the fog, and the taste of iron that never comes from the warmth that fills your mouth feels alien.

This body can’t be yours it can’t it can’t- On the days where your captor was home, Illumi would sit you in front of the single gilded mirror in the shared room, humming the same empty tune on repeat as your mind slowly flipped itself inside out and melted whatever remnants of intelligent thought you had left. Some days you would look into the mirror too, and the gaunt hollowed out face that stares back at you is not yours so you settle for staring at the corner of the dressing table and count the number of grains on the wood instead before you mind snaps in two again and Illumi cracks your bones for misbehaving

Nimble fingers that resembled pale spiders deftly braid the long sheets of hair you once so prized into simple braids as he plainly recounts his day to you; it’s his imitation of normalcy and version of an extended olive branch. You know better than to do anything but placidly agree to his statements and nod your approval of his actions as he describes to you in detail the way the human neck bends before it snap, or the angle one slashes another’s chest to minimize spilled blood.

Now days, you just slip into the corners of your mind when the violence overwhelms and you need to numb yourself from everything. The ocean does plenty to tune him out, and it’s easier to interact with the formless blobs that croon contained poison.

It’s not that he loves his brutality, but that Illumi is violence personified, as if inhumanity itself had its essence filtered into a form capable of striking others with such ruthless acts, from the way he so callously strikes out at you for no reason or to the casual manner he stated his gory deeds as if he were just describing the weather.

He reminds you of your old dance instructor, you think, as Illumi snakes his arms up your dress. He too too seemed to struggle acting human, with his rigid movements and mechanical mannerisms, although the void that was Illumi somehow decided to thrown all pretenses out of the window and revel in his emptiness instead.

You don’t flinch, even when he slowly trails the inside of your neck with kisses, you barely breathe when he tilts your face up and forces you to look into his horribly empty eyes twisted into such unconcealed malice, and you never pull back when he forces his mouth against yours, stealing every single life-giving breath away from your lungs as his hands trace the name he forceful carved into your chest.

It’s faster, quicker and less painful letting him do as he pleases, easier to let it all go than to fight and find yourself strangled and thrown around like a rag doll.

Your body moves on its own, pressing yourself against him as you link your fingers behind his neck, and murmur sweet praises into his kisses.

It’s not difficult, you think, cording your fingers through his hair (you’re careful not to pull them too hard, the slap you received from him last time still rattled your jaw when you chewed). A healthy dose of practice, consistency and fear did wonders to remove every bit of resistance from the human psyche, as you have so learned.

While your tongue twists to form unfamiliar words of comfort, you release the reigns of consciousness and drifted back down into the fog, letting it envelop your being and shelter you from the horrors above.

It’s better than being fully aware and spending one more fucking second with that monster

.....

The fog lifts itself in fractions.

It’s a snowy afternoon, and you’re performing your ballet stretches for Illumi’s amusement. He hasn’t out rightly demanded a performance since the incident, but your basic forms placate his unspoken wishes.

You close your eyes, breathe, and fall back into the shades of grey.

You’re both in the sun room, his hands trailing the blades of your shoulders as he continues to hum the same eight notes on repeat. It’s impossible to stop your eyes from watering as the familiar tune from your childhood floods the empty room, and you let the fog cover your last thoughts right as the first warning bells before his imminent punishment sound.

It’s night time, and the branches are dangerously close to snapping from the weight of snow piles upon them. He’s towering over you, nails digging into your wrist as he pins you to the bed, roughly nipping at your collarbones and pressing his naked form against yours. You became all too aware of the force behind his touch, and the clamminess from his skin as he pushes himself into you. Everything ignites in flames and it’s just unbearably hot, and nothing about this feels right, so you squirm and writhe desperately for any escape from him.

Illumi simply backhands you across the face as a response, dead eyes blinking down at your exposed body, paying no heed to your continuous struggles. He simply adjusts himself, forcing his weight into holding you down as he carves words of his ownership over you into the flat of your abdomen with sharpened nails, humming the same tune on repeat.

Your screams sound especially empty as you drown yourself back into dark murky waters for what felt like a seamless eternity.

In those times, the faintest whispers of the past get dredged up by the waves, intermingling with your present day horrors, and you see flashes of a monstrous beast emerging from the depths of your mind, relentlessly hunting for whatever semblance of sustenance it could find, and this time, not even the fog in your head could save you from it when it finally wore you down and swallowed you whole.

The next time you emerged from the fog, your head is pressed hard against the marble floor of an unfamiliar room.

You force your eyes forward, and see Illumi kneeling before a man with the frame of a giant and eyes of a lion, who’s mouth is twisted into a snarl that spits words of venom capable of melting flesh to the bone. You can’t hear anything he’s saying from all the cotton in your head, but each muted syllable feels like a punch to the gut.

You blink.

A ringing slap sounds, and like a broken marionette Illumi falls to the ground, nursing a bloodied lip, blank eyes boring holes into yours. You close your eyes, allowing the fog in your head to creep back in and silencing your thoughts. .....

“Why do we suffer?” You asked him once, tending to the slashes carved into the high cheekbones that support his face. He is sitting cross legged across you, cocking his head to the side as he lazily shrugs in response.

“Because we deserve it.” .....

Cruelty is a given.

Mercy cannot be free. But even in the hollowness of this God forsaken household where demons abide and immorality abounds, do you continue to repeat the motions of your dance as you jumped around empty halls filled with unheard screams, slowly and surely losing pieces of your own humanity

......

“I am going to be honest with you,” Zeno says on the first morning you’ve seen him in months, “I thought you were dead.”

You lower your gaze to the board, absent minded lay pushing a knight forward, “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m not disappointed.” He stops, and takes your rook with a sweep of his pawn, “just surprised.”

“I’m just full of them.” You chuckle, push your queen forward and he returns the gesture with his king. He gives you an unreadable look, and shakes his head.

Even your laughter is beginning to sound like his The quietness of the library is a comfort to the oppressing silence from the rest of the house, its strong scent of aged leather and cinnamon a stark contrast to the pristine sterility that marked Illumi’s wing of the house. You mimic Zeno’s motion, taking a sip of tea and sigh at the strange familiarity of the situation.

“What would you ask for, if you win?” He asks, balancing his chin on one hand while twirling his mustache with another. Between his wild white hair and eyes that shone like the sky, he looks absolutely nothing like his grandchild.

You turn your attention back to the board, barely evading his queen. “My freedom, of course.”

He eyes you with what you deem as pity, your stomach churns and an unknown beast inside you rages and presses on.

“You’re expecting too much from me. I have no control over that boy.”

“You’re his grandfather.” Ignoring the cold pit that sinks in your stomach, you can only shake your head in disbelief.

He smiles, and moves his knight forward, cornering your king.

“True. But I am not the head of the house.”

A pensive silence falls between the both of you, and you throw yourself back into the chair, staring forlornly into the scenes of death carved into the gold ornate ceiling.

“Will they return my body to my family when I finally die?” You asks in a whisper so low that no one but him could hear it. Zeno follows your gaze and the sigh he releases sounds too old, even for him. “They don’t exist here. And neither do you.” .....

“Oh, hello? I wasn’t aware Illu kept little birds in his room.”

You look up from your book, and come face to face with a stranger dressed in colorful clothes, perching precariously on the windowsill you had so surely locked hours ago. Eyeing his delicate swinging earrings and wild ginger hair fills you with an unknown hunger so strong that your mouth waters and sends you into a trembling fit. He is, after all, the first living person you’ve seen in months who isn’t a Zoldyck or a butler, and stands as a break in the endless monotony you’ve resided in.

“Can you not speak? I don’t bite,” he smirks, helping himself into the room as he peels back perfectly shaped cupid bow lips to show off a nice collection of canines, “hard.”

He saunters around purposefully, curiously examining the array of perfumes that line the dressing table with the controlled presence of a predator. From your seat, you note the ease at which he walks, born of confidence that nothing in this house bore a threat to his existence, and each light step he takes sends a pulse through your being. Turning back to your book, you frown upon noticing its edges were torn from the force it’s taken you to stop shaking.

“Sorry,” you apologize half-heartedly, “I wasn’t aware clowns could actually talk.” The strange man laughs, and it’s a strange light combination of charm and malice. Like poisoned cherry blossoms, you supposed.

“You’re thinking of mimes, my dear. Besides,” he leans dangerously close over you, tilting your face upwards as he conjures an ace of hearts somewhere behind your ear and places it delicately on your lap, “I’m a magician.”

You twirl the card in your fingers, and toss it to the floor, unamused. “Can you make me disappear then, Mr Magician?”

He picks the card up and it seemingly disappears into his armband. “For the right price, but I’m a good friend of Illu’s and you don’t have anything I particularly want.” You almost laugh from the absurdity of the statement.

“He doesn’t have friends.” No, Illumi’s head was far, far too empty to have the closest semblance of a relationship with any living thing.

The man smiles, baring his teeth, but it’s more of a threat from your angle.

“Well, if you see him, pass him this card, he’ll know what to do.” A joker unknowingly appears in your lap, and he hops onto the windowsill again. In a panic, you realize your last connection to the outside world was leaving, and the thought of it was so unbearable the next sentence flies out before you could stop yourself.

“Can I be your friend too, Mr Magician?”

He freezes, and looks with you with death in his eyes, eyeing your limp arm, and his voice is cold when he tells you this:

“Sorry little bird, but I don’t like broken toys.” .....

You’re not too sure how long you stood staring towards the outside world after the man left.

But you do remember falling on your knees, tears piling down your cheeks like torrents, the shattering pain or cool hardness of the floor nothing compared to the explosion erupting from the very core of your being as you struggle helplessly to maintain steady breathing.

You’re broken.

“I’m not.” Was this scar always there?

You’re broken. “I’m not.” How long have you been on fire? You’re broken.

Two words. Two simple words was all it took to blow away the safe haven of fog you created in the confines of your mind to cope with the monstrosity of your situation, and those words, spoken so cruelly, threw all your pretense, and left you exposed to the real horror of being set aflame.

You wrap yourself in fine linen sheets, still on fire, still burning, and scream until your throat is aflame and splotches of red dye the white sheets. ......

“I would give up everything for the chance to see you laugh again.”

The laughter that echoes the room sounds hollow and spiteful, and you slap his hands away as you glare at the shadow before you.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Illumi.” You bite out each wretched syllable of his name with so, so much hate that he blinks, the gears in his head whirring to a boil before he chooses to ignore the hostility in your voice.

“If you really love me,” you push yourself to shaking feet, voice far stronger than your legs. It leaves a bitter taste and you want to tear your tongue out and toss it into the nearest fire to forget everything,

“let me go.”

He blinks again, and you can almost hear the cogs in his brain rattle as they jolt to life and begin to slowly turn. “You’re my wife, do I not mean anything to you?”

“Oh Illumi,” you press yourself against his chest, the name he carved so lovingly into your skin tingling. The thumping of his heart is irregularly slow, even at your proximity does his heartbeat feel nonexistent, and if you weren’t any wiser you would have assumed he were a corpse (you’re not wrong). The coldness of his skin is freezing when your skin brushes past, and he tilts his head to the side, unable to comprehend the rage and disgust pooling at the top of your tongue, eyes huge and empty, like dead fish, as he continued to wrap himself in layers of denial and lies. The laughter that escapes you is impossible to stop, for how can a man so deadly be so, so stupid?

You cup his cheek, brushing errand strands from his face, “how can anyone ever love you?”

An explosion of poison consumes you, and your dinner from last night reacquaints itself with your mouth before you empty it all out onto the floor. Something fragile cracks, and the pain washes over you immediately. Your wrist is shattered, and you can tell from the splintered bones that jut against your skin that it isn’t a clean break, that bastard.

He sends a swift kick to your knees, the force of which destroys your knee caps (you know deep down that you’ll never walk again after this).

“You are my wife. You will love me.” He forces you up by your hair, not caring that the force nearly breaks you neck “nothing will change that.”

You spit at his face.

“I didn’t choose to be your wife.” This budding anger, this itch of rage, which grew and grew over these months, exploded into a torrent as you screamed each word out, dripping with poison, acid burning the flimsy thread that held your peace until your throat is raw and you can’t muster the strength to shout anymore. Somewhere along the way, you wondered if that really was your voice and when it became full with this much hate?

Broken toy.

“I didn’t choose any of this.” You heaved out, “I didn’t want any of this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the steady pressure he applies blocks off your oxygen intake as he easily lifts you off the ground by the neck, slamming you against the wall as you helplessly kicked at him. He gently brushes your hair away from your face, and leans in close enough for you to stare at every single scar that lined his porcelains skin.

“I love you so, so much. And I will help you see it too.” The sharp prick and a wave of panic washes over you, stomach twisting as your crushed ribs forced the air air out of your very lungs, eyeing the offending yellow capped needle Illumi inserts another at the base of your collarbones, right above his name.

Everything turns black. .....

Illumi isn’t often enamored by the sights the world has to offer the way other people are. To him, the flashes of color mean just that: simple, meaningless forms.

But you, in your simple, meandering way and silly little dances made his heart pound in a way he never thought would ever be possible.

It was just simply irresistible.

You dance across the room, full of grace and delicate steps. The warmth of your hand grazes his cheek as you slowly dip down to plant a kiss on his forehead, smiling down at him with so much love that he feels drunk of it.

Illumi smiles, humming the same eight notes of the song as you begin to repeat the motions of your dance once again.

[annhellsing]

Meet the War

notes: i love zenos so much and while this is shameless smut, it’s also a little bit of a character study. thank you so much to @mitsurugireiji for beta reading and giving me ideas aplenty!! rating: explicit, there’s nudity and oral sex. pairing: zenos yae Galvus  / reader word count: 2,457

He has a bleary, hopeless love about him that even he isn’t aware of. You’re sure that any trace of it must be accidental, Zenos avoids clear emotion like the plague. But whatever airtight seal he has over himself seems to loosen when your arms loop around him. He seems to give in, to unwind like bandages keeping in a wound. His guts spill out in the figurative sense, although the sensation is very literal to him.

“What’s that look?” you ask, tapping the end of his thin nose very gently with the pad of your index finger. It comes away a bit red. Zenos visibly bristles. You pout. “Oh, it’s gone.”

“What’re you talking about?” he drawls, unhappy that you’ve gone and drawn attention to him. He shifts on the bed, nudging a little closer to you and your seeking arms. You smile a bit, leaning in and this time--- it’s a kiss you press where you once tapped.

When you drag your tongue over your lower lip, it tastes like coppery blood.

“Like you were all happy and content,” you explain, “that was the look you had. I liked it.”

He scoffs between his teeth, but doesn’t turn away from your lips against his face. You kiss his cheeks, the high points of each of them and the dip of the bridge of his nose. You put your mouth to the hollows of his eyelids, breathing softly against his forehead. When he shivers, you can feel it against your chest.

And all the while there is the pervasive smell of metal, of iron and copper. You’re not sure of its origin, or whether there is more or less blood when you pull away. A great deal splashed on your person, going as ignored as the gore that stains him.

Your wrist is caught in his hand before it touches his cheek. Kisses and touches at the same time are risky things, liable to overwhelm the man. So you slow, letting him hold you in his loose grip with your palm up. 

Zenos turns his face towards it, puts a kiss to where your thumb joins with your hand. Then, another one under your index and middle finger. A third under your ring and pinkie. You sigh against him, when you’re at last released and permitted to touch.

He isn’t used to it, of course. It’s the reason why he scowls, for your painless acts of love are deeply foreign. But they please you, and he was made to please you. So they are allowed.

You don’t care that he tastes of sword-metal and smoke. That every swipe of your tongue over his lips comes up blood. He will never be satisfied, but that is especially true following a hunt. Leading him to violence carries the same conclusion time and time again, you cannot be cross with him for being consistent.

“If anyone were to walk in on us, they would think us depraved,” you smile at him. His lip quirks up a fraction.

“They would be right, I should think,” he replies. He nuzzles his face closer to you, trying to catch with the bed of his tongue the bead of your enemy’s blood that carves its red path down your cheek. You sputter and pull away with a laugh.

“Don’t be vulgar, darling,” you chastise with all the weight of gentle mockery. “Though it does seem we’re both in need of a bath.”

“But I like the look of you as you are,” Zenos hums, pushing his hand through your hair. His big fingers do not tug or pull, and they come to rest at the base of your skull. “Exactly as you are.”

“Then you are the depraved one,” you laugh again, sitting up on the bed and prompting him to withdraw his arm. He looks displeased, like he was looking forward to spending the dwindling evening lying there with you.

“Kiss me again,” he wants to sound demanding, the way an emperor should. But it falls flat, sounding more like a plea the longer you stare at him. As always, your eyes are gentle but they take in the blood pooling in his cupid's bow. And that which is quickly drying on his cheeks.

“One more kiss,” you bargain, “and then a bath, for I am not so keen to make love in this state as you are.”

You lean forward and bestow the gift he asks for. A kiss, his lips to your lips is easily given. Zenos tries to keep you there, his big hands grab for your shoulders but you’re too quick. You grab him by the scruff of the shirt and haul him up to sit next to you.

“Who said anything of lovemaking?” he asks, tilting his head a touch to emphasize his own teasing. You pull him closer, barely gentle before giving him a wolfish smile.

“You have been hard since you sunk your blade in that very first soldier,” you beam, “how long ago was that? Over an hour? You must be very sore by now.”

“Then take me,” he mumbles, his bloody face is inches from yours, “prove that you are right.”

His hand moves quickly, between his legs and over the prominent bulge in his underclothes. Zenos stiffens, gasping slightly for dramatic effect. That is, until he catches your unamused eye. He falters, just slightly.

“No,” you say. And he knows he is to remove his hand. He does it slowly, but at least he does it this time. He’s learned his lesson from last week. “Did I say that you could touch?”

“Well, if you aren’t going to---” he starts. You cut him off with a glare, your fist tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“A bath,” you say, “now.”

“And after that?” he gives a hopeful look that you’re sure he isn’t aware of.

“Get up,” you say, though your voice is not as anger-hardened as your eyes. That gives him a bit of hope, at least.

What he’s pulled towards is not, of course, a real tub. A tent in the middle of a battlefield that runs red with the enemy’s blood is a far cry from the amenities a palace can provide. But since you are so insistent upon cleanliness, Zenos chooses to kneel at the water basin--- if only to placate you.

The water is still warm when you cup your hand and dip it below the surface. Pulling his hair back, you wet his cheeks and forehead, working to get the worst of the gore off of him. He gives an inaudible sigh, still confused by intimacy but not about to rebuke it. 

While he would happily wear the marker of a dead enemy on him, and stink of death for a bit--- there is something nice about being cared for. His eyes are closed, but he can still imagine how you look. You’re annoyed, but still gentle.

“Thankfully, most of it splashed on your armour,” you say, “so I won’t have to wash your underclothes.”

He hums at that, unsure of how to bridge the fact that you would be the one to take on a servant’s labour. But for him, Zenos has to accept, you would debase yourself quite a bit. 

Still, no further than he is to debase himself. He is the one kneeling, let’s not forget.

You are painfully thorough, despite the softness of your palm on his face. Zenos is unnerved, of course, by what he does not understand and yet the feeling never passes into unpleasantness. He feels cared for, for a change. He cannot remember the last time he felt such a way.

“Let me have a look at you,” you coo, putting your hand under his chin and turning it to yours. His eyes are still closed, you dab at the water on his face and brush his hair back from his forehead.

He’s greeted by your fond gaze when he finally opens his eyes. Zenos stares back, on his knees and captivated by how beautiful you can look in the afterglow of conflict. He will be sorry to see it carelessly discarded.

“That’s better,” you praise, “you’re back to your handsome self.”

“I beg to differ,” he says, impish and sly like a fox. “I preferred how I looked before your meddling.”

“Well, that wasn’t your choice,” you remind him. He huffs. “Kneel by the bedside, my love. I’ll join you in a bit when I’m clean.”

He wants to make more of a fuss than he does. But Zenos knows better than to protest your wishes in this respect, he’s learned through much trial and error to trust your command. You alone have earned the right to order him about.

He rises easily from the floor, towering over you with a menacing look on his face. But he does as he’s told, kneeling next to the low bed in an attempt to earn the favour of his only friend.

As much as he’s been told he already has your favour, he still doubts as much on occasion. You wash your face in the same water. The act is almost shockingly intimate, and you don’t need to lay a finger on him at all.

“Clothes off,” you order in a very quiet voice. He takes that as gospel.

His linen tunic is nearly ripped off, tugged over his shoulders quickly enough to fray fabric. Zenos gives as much time to his underclothes as he does his shirt, casting them aside quickly while you rid yourself of blood.

You look so small without your armour. Almost slight. But still poised and graceful, bending before the water basin with a delicate curve of your back. You pat your face dry and look at him over your shoulder, beaming broadly.

“That is so much better,” you comment.

“Now will you join me?” he asks like it’s been ages since you sent him away. You roll your eyes.

“Yes, I suppose,” you concede. 

With a toss of your hair, you move to him. Your hips sway and carnal delight blooms in his eyes. Your shift, dotted with oxidized blood is pulled just as sharply off of you, leaving you just as bare. 

Hatred almost leaps in him, in sharp contrast to that ever-present love. You know he still sees you as half a rival, flaring equal parts rage and adoration in his crowded chest. For a man with few opportunities to feel, he does so in both lavish and terrifying ways.

“We are no longer in battle,” you remind him, “where is that contented look I saw before?”

“You attempt to get a rise from me,” he deadpans, still on his knees. His clean face nuzzles against your bare stomach once you’re close enough. Zenos kisses just below your navel, his teeth graze your skin gently.

“Absolutely,” you reply, tilting his chin up until his eyes are fixed on yours. “Come now, aren’t you the least bit happy?”

“I am,” he sighs after a longer pause than you expected. You dip your head, catching his lips in a warm and bloodless kiss.

You seize his hair very suddenly, pulling him back and making him hiss with delight. You tug his head forward, widening your stance just enough that he can catch a glimpse between your legs.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” you tell him, “would you like to get a bit closer?”

“Yes,” he exhales, leaning towards the hairline fracture like a man starved. You let go, allowing him to crash forward against your thighs.

He curls in on himself, arching his back so he’s low enough to reach. To touch the tip of his tongue against where you are most sensitive. 

You gasp, the sound is heavenly and his hands rise to your hips. He grips you tight, tight enough to border on pain. You tug on his hair in retaliation, which only makes him moan against your clit. There is violence in the way he loves, you’ve more than accepted it.

“Gentle,” you tut, he doesn’t pay attention.

You are prey, he reminds himself. Even as he’s on his knees, devouring you with the bed of his tongue. You are just prey. Prey who hooks their knee over his broad shoulder, granting him unfettered access to your warmth.

His eyes close, lost in the sensation of trying to bring pleasure to his greatest enemy. But also to his closest friend. Zenos cannot deny his wish to do right by you as the tip of his tongue follows the petals of your inner labia. You shiver against him, a beautiful feeling.

“Yes, yes,” you’ve taken to sighing. He wants to hear it louder. 

The hate is home to him, the want to sink his teeth into your sensitive flesh until he tastes blood is like an echo. A memory, a way to control an uncertain situation. But more inviting is your breathless gasp, your hands in his hair that go slack and soft.

You hold the back of his head, cradling him without pushing too hard. You only ask to be served, even when you seem to command. And Zenos knows, before anyone else, you deserve his compliance. 

Whispered encouragement does wonders. He settles in more bodily, licking and prodding and taking of your sex with his seeking tongue. His cock, hard and proud against his thigh is mostly ignored, but for a few tugs every now and again.

You notice, you do, but you allow it. Zenos fought well today.

“Enough,” you whisper when it isn’t true. You could demand more of him, but you can tell by the way his eyes squeeze shut that his jaw is beginning to ache. You step back, careful when unhooking your leg and using his shoulders to steady yourself.

He opens his eyes, licking his lips with a fox-like satisfaction. You take his face again in your hands and put your thumbs to the hinge of his jaw. Rubbing slow circles where the mild ache blooms, Zenos registers after a moment that you are speaking.

“You are improving, hunter,” you whisper. He nods, the gesture more adorable than you’re sure he would be comfortable with.

“As is evidenced by your mewling,” he drawls, looking pleased with himself. He’s more than earned it. You steal another kiss, just at the corner of his mouth and he falls silent.

Love is a strange thing. Zenos isn’t certain that this is it, either. But your careful touches and devious smiles feel so new, so foreign that it cannot be anything else. The hate runs thick, yes, and he indulges it for its familiarity. But it is your love that sets him alight.

[faelune-home]

(fanfic) “how the guiding light wavers”

(A/N: I’ve had this in the works for a few weeks now. I first brought it up in this long post I wrote to establish character stuff, but this is the work that will finally make me feel a bit more secure in writing for my miqo’te girl. I’m aware it all sounds convoluted and bizarre to fixate on a name like this, but it was something that bothered me, and I’m the one actually doing the writing for my own character, so I do hope that this fic finally makes writing easier.

But alongside the name stuff, it’s also a larger look at where Fhara is emotionally throughout Shadowbringers I suppose. A little bit of where she’s come from and where she’s been so far and where she stands before entering Endwalker, so there’s at least a little bit more to this fic than just name shenanigans. XD

Name shenanigans and heroic title woes and legacy musings. All wrapped up in a complicated bow. Aha. I’ll probably do more Scion interaction focused additions on Fhara’s woes and worries later, especially since I had some in the original fic only to remove them as it was getting way too wordy, but this is the main meat of those feelings here and now.

Strong spoilers for the ending Stormblood patches and Shadowbringers, more so 5.0 and then just fleeting mentions of patch stuff. Set after 5.3.

Word count: 4760

Ao3 link)

When she set out from her home for Eorzea’s shores, she had a goal; to become a hero, and make her name known across the world. To be known as someone great and powerful, with monsters big and small bested at her hand, yet also someone kind and helpful, saving people and making their life a little bit easier. A lofty goal, but one she figured could be done, one small step at a time. After all, every adventurer started small.

Little did she know that her forays in Eorzea would grant her her desires, at a much faster rate than she anticipated; she joined the Scions, with their close ties to the city leaders and their own aims to protect the realm, and in gaining a reputation as a primal slayer, became known as a fabled Warrior of Light. A type of hero normally assigned to legend. It was everything she could have wanted and maybe even more than she could handle. It was a heavy title, but one she wore proudly, all while continuing as she had originally planned.

Yet as time passed, the weight grew heavier. There was still pride and joy in doing the right thing for the sake of others, protecting the innocent from those that would do them harm, but at some point, in the midst of the fighting, torn between Ascians and the Empire, despite doing the same thing she always did, her thoughts would wander to her original purpose in undertaking this grand adventure.

To become a figure of whom stories would be told, for those stories to return to her home and inspire the younger children, much like the old tales had inspired herself. To teach them to do good, to do better, to help others, to be brave, to be kind. An idealistic idea but one she held fast to. And by all accounts, fighting under the Warrior of Light title aided her even further in another aspect of her plans; to allow her to step back from the world once all is done and know peace when she hung up her bow and settled down.

When she set out from her home, she was ‘Fufu’; an old childhood nickname she’d long outgrown in her village, with the exception of her aunt, repurposed for her heroic exploits until the Warrior of Light title seemed to do the job better. Then in Eorzea, in the comfort of those she came to call a second family, she could be Fhara again. And it was nice, comforting even. To know that others knew her as more than just her heroic title, and that the Rising Stones could feel like a home so far away from home.

A home that was always filled with the sound of laughter or chatter, always someone socialising with a friend or partner, or busy working, the Rising Stones had all the energy and joy within its walls that she knew from her home, even with all the group had been through. To find that joy stripped out, the halls empty of people as her dearest friends collapsed into lifelessness and everyone else was left to fill in for their missing teammates…

For Fhara, it left her with no-one. But the Warrior of Light still had work to do.

The Warrior of Light had faced down conquerors, defeated dragons, set free thousands from the shackles of tyranny. But Fhara had never been alone in her feats, always with her companions at her side, or standing strong behind her, keeping the way clear for her, ready to back her up.

The Warrior of Light would go on to face Zenos that day in Ghimlyt Dark, the whispered tales from young inexperienced soldiers speaking how she almost pushed him back single handedly, with the famed Azure Dragoon jumping into the fray to assist her. In truth, Fhara stood alone on that battle field, facing a barely weakened, Ascian possessed corpse, the collapsed figures of her resistance comrades strewn behind her, she kept going until she herself blacked out under mysterious circumstances, only surviving by Estinien’s timely arrival.

Her recovery in Ishgard started her thinking, mixed in with the anxious waves of the mysterious caller’s words. The Warrior of Light would ever be revered for their acts, but as a single entity. Whereas Fhara, while capable on her own, worked best with a team, with her friends by her side. Working out a plan of attack together, or simply knowing they were there with her gave her strength. Yet standing on the field that day, the only thing giving her the strength to fight on was the desire to protect others, for if the Ascian controlling the fallen crown prince made it past her, Eorzea would no doubt suffer.

Then a stray thought...what gave her the strength to start doing all of this in the first place? What was her drive to begin with? It seemed so long ago…

‘Fufu’ had come all the many malms from a small village on the outskirts of Thavnair to become a hero, one that would have bard songs made about her for the sake of children’s tales. But the Warrior of Light had ultimately taken on that role. So what was the point of continuing to call herself ‘Fufu’ to the public? Was it just a habit by that point? A desire to hide herself behind an identity that both was and wasn’t her? After all, it was a nickname that had long been associated with her, and in the absence of any other ideas for an alias to call herself - oft teased as she was for her poor imagination for naming things - she had fallen to the easiest idea of her old childhood moniker.

Maybe it was time to move on from such childish notions? Her thoughts were neither bitter nor certain. The questions merely buzzed in her head as she left them unanswered.

She left the city with her golden hair cropped, a request asked of Jandelaine, met in passing before she left Ishgard behind her.

“It is a shame,” he’d said at the sight of her shorn twintail, the other loose from the hair tie, matted with blood and dirt, “But I can tidy it up and it’s like it never happened. A return to beauty and grace, just say the word.”

She could’ve kept it the same, and continued on as normal. But instead it was all gone. Because maybe a fresh start was what she needed?

~*~*~

The First was not a fresh start. At least not one Fhara was expecting. A land on the cusp of destruction, perpetually bathed in an unnatural eerie light, the people hunted by Sin Eaters, suffering either death or a torturous transformation in turn. She very quickly learned how terrifying, how desolate some corners of the land of Norvrandt could be, and she could well understand why, if people were living in such conditions.

Her first port of call in the strange new land was the oddly familiar gleaming tower, a recognisable pillar even against the hazy glowing sky. And within was the enigmatic Crystal Exarch, ready to greet her with open arms.

She had mixed feelings about the Exarch, on many points; having Called her friends and left their lifeless bodies back on the Source in an uncertain state, or even that Calling them was an accident in itself, since she herself was meant to be the target gave her no end of frustration toward the man. Even then with the knowledge that he hadn’t intended to summon the other Scions, the idea that he had wanted her to act alone in saving the First was one Fhara couldn’t help but balk at. 

Of course she was willing to help, she couldn’t stand seeing people suffer while she knew she could do something. But to think she would be able to handle the work singlehandedly was pure folly. In that way, perhaps it was a small relief then that she had the Scions to help her, unintentional was their presence on the First. Even with the uncertainty surrounding their summoning and the state of their separated selves, she at least had her friends and teammates with her.

However it was his first impression beyond his summoning mishaps that stuck with Fhara and kept her uneasy around the man; no sooner had she arrived at the gate, he had welcomed her past his wary gate guard, quick to introduce her and settle her into the Crystarium. A warm welcome for sure, and not one she was ungrateful for, however the mix of familiar and unfamiliar in the man’s demeanor made her cautious. 

That he knew her so well, so casually referred to her as ‘Fufu’ before she had even introduced herself, how comfortable he seemed while using it - hand waved away as him learning it from old records stored within the Tower, a name used in tandem with the Warrior of Light title, although it reignited her recent troubled thoughts on her public identity - while she knew nothing about him, that not even his own people could say much of him did nothing to ease her. Every factor together had her wanting to keep the Exarch at arms length. She would do as he asked - save the First, bring back the Light, prevent another Calamity from decimating the Source - and in return, he would return her friends’ home. That was all that was needed.

Of course, things would never be that simple.

In a land ravaged by Light for 100 years, a Warrior of Light was considered a heathen, a villain that had doomed them all. Instead, the people hoped and prayed for a Warrior of Darkness to be their hero. And so Fhara, with the starlit sky returning in the wake of her arrival, would become that hero.

Fhara didn’t want to say she hated it, however the dizzying speed with which the title and the stories spread was a shock to the system, moving even quicker than her reputation as the Warrior of Light had grown on the Source. She couldn’t blame the people for their enthusiasm, especially when the hero of legend’s arrival coincided with the return of the night after a century without.

She didn’t hate it. But she found herself seeking the comfort of her closest friends more often than she used to before. She knew they weren’t looking at a grand hero, but just Fhara, who stood up to answer the call. And they stood with her. As the days would pass on the First, rarely was she without a Scion by her side, only truly left alone in the comfort of her inn room, and even then, the wayward spirit of Ardbert was a presence she didn’t resent.

The days would pass, and the night returned across the land, and beyond the walls of the Crystarium, away from the crowds of people that would revere a hero, through pixie flower beds and dense forests ever shaded from the skies, and into desert ruins of a civilisation long lost-

“Welcome aboard, Ryne.”

Fhara had seen the young Oracle struggle under the weight of her legacy, the expectations of her duty to protect and act as a beacon of hope for the people of Norvrandt, while also living in Minfilia’s shadow by virtue of her name and powers. Fhara could empathise with the young girl, having long known the feeling of so many people relying on her and her own more recent doubts that she could live up to those hopes. She kept trying all the same, as she knew the Oracle would as well, for it wasn’t in Fhara’s nature to give up if she could do something.

But now, seeing the newly christened Ryne standing with a fresh air of confidence about her, her only nerves being about doing a good job for the sake of the team and helping relinquish Amh Araeng from the grip of the Light, Fhara was proud of the girl for her new lease on life.

Yet also a tiny bit jealous, that all it took was a name and a declaration to do better by herself for the girl to suddenly be brimming with courage, whereas Fhara fretted and frayed and languished under a gifted moniker, calling herself by her childhood name and then acting as though it were her only option, that she had no other choice...but was it always that simple? To just announce to the world you could be born anew yet still the same person?

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the solution Fhara was looking for, but it was an idea towards a resolution for her woes. After all, she wasn’t trying to begin fresh like Ryne, Fhara just wanted to be Fhara, as she always had been. It was just trying to express that to the world at large.

It was only when the Light she had been capturing within herself finally overpowered her and left her weakened and stumbling, sitting at death’s door, did it finally seem to become clear to her. So rarely before had she gotten so close to death that she had never thought so closely about what she would leave behind, or who would remember her and how. The people of Norvrandt knew the Warrior of Darkness, Eorzea knew the Warrior of Light and the Scions knew Fhara. And if she died that day that would be the memory she would leave behind. 

Yet she realised, lying in her inn room, she didn’t want to just be remembered as a hero under a title, or by a name that most of her nearest and dearest scarcely used. She wanted to be remembered as Fhara, at least if it were possible.

She’d certainly made the attempt to introduce herself as such during their travels across the realm, but with how quickly people came to know her as the Warrior of Darkness, she feared that her attempts were being drowned out. However before their ascent of Mt Gulg, as the crowds gathered from across the land to assist them, she found that they knew her as Fhara, and they would talk to her, and they wished all the Scions the best of luck. And among a small few, the Warrior of Darkness was not a title solely attributed to her, but to all of her friends.

It was nice. A reassuring gesture that her efforts were noticed. Even as she stumbled her way to the deepest depths of the seas in pursuit of Emet-Selch - keenly aware that if she failed, she would be dooming the First and her fellow Scions along with her - she held onto that knowledge. After all her worries, it was an odd source of courage for her, bolstered by her desire to survive, and the understanding that she wasn’t alone in her duty.

Altogether her feelings gathered, and in the face of death and her desperate wish to live, and her wish to be known for more than her heroic tales, she made her decision. She’d never been afraid to make the first step before, not even into the unknown. She’d come all the way to Eorzea on a whim and a want, and faced almighty foes more powerful than herself with nothing more than the determination to protect those that could not fight back.

If she lived through this fight, she would cast aside her anxieties, and take that first step again.

~*~*~

Fhara wasn’t the type to call meetings, she was the type to attend someone else’s meeting. And yet the majority Scions were gathered in the Rising Stones, with the miqo’te standing at the head of the pack, nervously shuffling her feet. What few Scions that weren’t accounted for were assured to be updated afterward.

She ran her fingers through her hair, no doubt to calm some nerves, although the action drew the attentions of the group members that had only seen her sparingly during her otherworldly adventures; since last they had seen her, she’d left for the Crystal Tower with a short crop, still wearing her tattered and torn bard coat, an uneasy smile on her face as though more to reassure those around her than because she genuinely felt like her hopeful self. Yet each time she returned to report to Tataru with updates, she was a brighter figure, with a spring in her step as she relayed the progress on the First, and her hair would grow out slowly to the feathered bob she now wore. It wasn’t quite the cute twintails they’d known her for when they joined, but she looked all the more confident nowadays with it.

She finally started, with a loud voice, albeit one that cracked as though there was still some anxiety holding her back, “I have something I want to say. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long while now and that I want to be clear on moving forward.”

Any mumbling between parties silenced immediately. Fhara’s tail flicked at the now heavy hush, however some encouraging gestures from the figures at the front most row - some few nods and a thumbs up here and there - allowed her to continue, “Thank you for being here. Truthfully, some people here already know what I’m gonna talk about. But I’d rather make it clear to everyone now. This whole thing might sound rather silly to some people, that I’m worrying over nothing. Some of you might even say that if it means so much to me, then it’s not such a trivial thing. And I appreciate that, I do.”

She hesitated, ears suddenly flattening. “To cut out a long story, when I came to Eorzea, and when I joined the Scions and became known as the Warrior of Light, I told everyone here they could call me Fhara. It’s who I am after all. But outside where people would know the Warrior of Light better, then they should call me ‘Fufu’. That’s still technically me, it's an old name I was called as a child. And it’s the name I chose for travelling because...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that I wanted to separate my private life, if I ever chose to return home, from my adventure life. But lately with everything that happened and with a lot of the dangers getting so much bigger than even the Warrior of Light I just started to worry about who I really was and what I was doing.”

“Like how? You seem the same to me?” Aenor spoke up, ignoring the disapproving nudge from her frowning sister.

“I mean, I hope I do,” Fhara smiled, although it was more wistful looking than pleasant, “I never tried to pretend to be someone I’m not, no matter where I was or who I was with, or what name people called me. But I started thinking I was getting lost with myself, like people were seeing two different people with me.” Her tail flicked again. “I should say now, I don’t hate being the Warrior of Light. A lot of people try to project that I’m frustrated with it or that I could be doing better with a title like that, but none of that is true. I don’t hate it. But it’s hard. People have big hopes and expectations for me when they treat me like that, and I’ll always try to reach them, but it’s not always easy to do alone. So truly, I’m forever grateful to have you all with me at my side.”

Casting a glance over the Archons and the twins, Fhara continued, her voice somehow smaller, “But when the Callings happened, and then everyone else here was stretched to take over the work, and this place was left empty so much, I...well, as senseless as it might sound, I felt alone. But I still had a job to do, but doing it alone was hard. Because everyone else knew this brave warrior that could handle anything, and I didn’t feel like that at all.” The quiet admission brought about guilty whispering rippling through the group, until a sharp cough from F’lhaminn hushed them again.

“T’was never our intent to make you feel as though you had no-one to lean on,” the older woman said, “Especially during such a time when our own were falling out of commission. But then it was precisely such a time that we all struggled to balance the work that needed to be done, and to fill the gaps left behind. If that struggle left you without support, then that would be our failing, and for that we would owe you our sincerest apologies.” The mumblings rose once more, letting out a small chorus of “sorry”s and “‘pologies”. 

Fhara gave the woman a grateful nod then added, “I understand, I do. And I didn’t say that to call out anyone here, but I won’t deny that a lot of people across the realm talk about me in such grand ways because of the work and feats I’ve done, and it’s hard to feel like I’ve lived up to their stories. In that sense, being on the First kind of helped; it was a fresh start where I could try again to do the hero thing, but in a lot of ways, it wasn’t, because the same thing that happened here on the Source happened there. People needed a hero, someone to help them, and I just became the Warrior of Darkness to answer that need, and that’s what most people knew me as. But it still gave me a chance to try and start afresh with myself, and now I feel better about where I stand. And I want to bring that feeling and those certainties back here.”

She didn’t mention Azem. Though the suggestion that Fhara may be related in some way to that Ancient had brought her more hazy feelings, she had insisted that none of that mattered. The final insistence had brought her here now, to her certain decision. She was herself, and she didn’t have to worry about being anything more.

She let in a deep breath, steeling herself as she said, “The Warrior of Light is here to stay and she’s the one that will go down in history, and I can’t change that. Not everyone in the world will know the real me beyond the heroes tales, and I can accept that. But at least on some level, I can try to let them understand me. And that can start with a name. A name can be lost to time, so I get that people in the future will never know Fhara. But the people here and now can, and that’s all I want.”

With a final, certain nod,  she declared, “So from now on, I’m Fhara. Not just inside these walls, but outside them as well. It took a lot more words to say that than it probably should have, but I hope you all understand it now.” Uncertain of how to finish her speech, she took the skirt of her purple dress, already wrung tight by her nervous hands, and gave a bow. There wasn’t an immediate response. It took another glance at the twins next to her, giving her comforting looks to ease the tension in her shoulders, until another voice spoke out from behind the group.

“‘At was a lot of words to get the message out, but it looks here that it meant a lot to ye to make it sure as sure fer us lot,” the crowd parted, and Riol nodded, looking satisfied, “I think I’ll speak fer us all when I say message received loud and clear.” Fhara’s eyes started to water as she looked around to assurances and smiles, and possibly unnecessary cheers from what sounded like one of the Boulder brothers, but it was acceptance nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she sniffed, trying not to actually cry, rubbing at her face, “I mean it. This all probably sounds really ridiculous and I’m overthinking everything but-”

“There shall be none of that,” Y’shtola interrupted, “None of that self-doubt at least. We’re here for you no matter what decision you wish to make for yourself. You of all people deserve the support, and we are all the more glad to provide it.”

Fhara’s ‘Thank you’ caught in her throat, all she could do was nod. The larger group dispersed, individuals coming up to give her more reassurances and words of comfort as they passed before continuing on to their work. Urianger took G’raha aside for a word, both men departing to Dawn’s Respite, leaving the rest of the archons and the twins by Tataru’s desk with Fhara.

“So that’ll be a weight off your shoulders then?” Alisaie asked. Fhara nodded, letting out a heavy breath and slumping forward with the effort.

“I was more nervous for that than I thought, and it was just in front of the other Scions. But I’m glad. I feel like that is a step towards feeling more like myself, even if I never really strayed from that in the first place...I think.”

Thancred let out a thoughtful hum, looking over her suddenly tired frame. “I’ll say you never changed much, but I can see the ease it’s brought you now. Although if this is you after telling people that knew your little secret, how will you be with others, I wonder?” He ignored the peeved expression from Alisaie next to him as he brought it up, especially when Fhara’s face became a picture of concern.

“Oh, we’ll probably have to tell the Alliance leaders. Or do we? Is this an official thing I have to report on? Is there a process for this?” Fhara asked, eyebrows furrowing. Was there more work needed in this decision that she hadn’t thought of? Was there paperwork?

“Not to worry, I can get some official missives written up and shipped out in a jiffy,” Tataru stated, giving Fhara a bright smile and a thumbs up. Fhara returned it with a relieved look of her own, and the receptionist hopped onto her chair and set to work.

“Honestly, knowing diplomatic types, we could just use your name normally as though it's always been used, and rather than risk a faux pas, the Alliance leaders would just go along with it anyways,” Alisaie suggested with a wry smile.

Alphinaud shook his head at the suggestion. “While I don’t doubt that that is possible, sister, I would prefer if we erred on the safe side and actually updated the Alliance. We don’t have to make a large fuss over the matter for Fhara’s sake, but at least informing them of the change would be better for the Scions’ standing with them in terms of open communication.”

Alisaie rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Of course, brother.”

“At the very least, Lyse is already familiar with you personally,” Y’shtola said, addressing Fhara once more, “Even should the rest of the Alliance falter or take time to adjust, she would be able to take charge on the matter and make the adjustment easier for all. You needn’t worry about being left alone to handle this.”

“Yes, that’ll help,” Fhara smiled, however her eyes then dropped to the floor, a worrisome look on her face once more.

“Thinking now about how many people I’d need to update or inform, it feels daunting already. I’m questioning now why I thought the whole alias thing would be a good idea.”

“Really now, it’s beginning to sound like you’re thinking of telling the whole realm. You’re going to worry yourself like that,” Alisaie huffed. However she then added with a softer tone, “You said it yourself that you won’t be able to change everyone’s perception of you. Many will know the Warrior of Light, and some few will know Fufu. The odds of you coming across every familiar face you’ve ever known after this will be slim. But if it does happen, you don’t have to explain yourself in any great detail. All anyone needs to know now is that you’re just Fhara.”

The words, simple as they were, brought a warmth to her chest. And surrounded by her closest friends, those that had been with her for most of her journey and through thick and thin, the idea of continuing on into the unknown ahead of them didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“Just Fhara...I like that.”

And that was all she needed.

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - Ch. 13 - Be(e) Mine

Varis’ lips press into a thin line as the Emissary strides toward you. Even his walk is smooth, his gait even and balanced, looking close to a saunter. His red eyes ensnare you, leaving you unable to look anywhere else but him.

And he knows it.

“I presume this to be her, correct?” the Emissary asks, coming to a stop a respectable distance away from you.

“Yes.” Varis answers, coming to stand nearby, clearly displeased.

The Emissary seems to pay little attention to Varis’ annoyed tone, choosing to extend his hand out in an offer to shake it. “A pleasure to meet you…”

“Honey.” You shake his hand firmly, surprised that for how thin he looks, he has a fairly strong grip. Continuing to hold your hand, his lips tweak into a gentle smile.

“What a lovely name.” The Emissary replies, the compliment sounding entirely genuine. You hope he can’t see the light blush rise to your cheeks.

Your eyes drift over to a nearby clock, catching the time. “I appreciate the compliments. Unfortunately, I do have some other business…” you trail off, giving your hand a light tug. He holds fast for a beat longer before finally loosening his grip, but not before turning your palm downwards to bring your hand to his lips to kiss the back of your hand.

“Professional, lovely, and diligent...your son has made quite the find, hasn’t he Varis?” The words are practically purred against your skin as the Emissary lowers his lashes at you.

“Indeed she is…” Varis murmurs, and his tone makes you break your stare off with the Emissary, not liking the predatory gleam in his golden eyes.

“Very well. I won’t hold you any longer, and let you attend to your duties.”

As he releases your hand, you do your best to not snatch it back to you, remaining cool and composed as you give the Emissary a hesitant smile. “Thank you…?”

“Elidibus.” He purrs, grinning like a cat. “I will be seeing you at dinner.” It was a statement, not an inquiry, and you quickly jolted your eyes to Varis. The CEO looked just as surprised as you, the predatory look fading for but a moment.

“I suppose you will.” You answer, not bothering to hide the confusion in your voice, but unwilling to stay any longer. Turning away you make your way to the kitchen, hoping you hadn’t kept Lyngsath waiting for too long.

“Sleepin’ in?” Lyngsath greets as you stroll in, already holding your plate of breakfast for you.

“Mornin’ Lyngsath.” You beam, taking a seat at a nearby table as he sets the plate down in front of you.A spread of various mouth watering fruit sits before you, paired with some eggs and toast. Saying your thanks, you dig right in. “I was held up by an, uh, guest?”

“Ah, the Emissary?” Lyngsath booms, though he doesn’t need to. His throaty voice easily carries over the sizzle of meat and clanging of pots. “What an honor! He has visited before, he is a most gracious guest. Lord Varis has us prepare Garlean cuisine for his arrival.”

Your eyebrow raises at that. “Garlean cuisine? Why?”

“Did you not know? He is the Prime Minister of Garlemald!”

"Garlemald? But he doesn't have a third eye…" you murmur in confusion.

"Aye! Which makes his position all the more impressive!"

You nearly drop your spoon at that, eyes surely bulging out of your head. You couldn’t believe you had so casually met a Prime Minister, and of Garlemald no less…

Which leads you to wonder, just what is the relationship between a CEO far from home and home’s Prime Minister? Of course it’s not unheard of for people in positions of power to mingle with one another; Lord Hien is known for being quite good friends with Gosetsu, a world renowned swordsmith and craftsman. However, thinking back on Varis’ tone when speaking with the Emissary, it leads you to believe that their relationship is far from chummy.

Speaking of Varis…

Handing your plate to the dishwasher, you make your way to the gym where Zenos awaits, thinking over his father’s unsettling stare. For someone who thought you worse than dirt, he seemed to pay special attention to you, or maybe he was merely making sure you wouldn’t step out of line in front of such prestigious company. Did he have anything close to a conscience that let him see he should afford you some respect for saving his life? It was the only reason that made sense from what you could tell.

“You are late.”

You don’t miss a beat as you head to put your things down as usual, seeing that Zenos has already finished his morning meditation.

“I slept in a little.” You lie, beginning your stretches. His eyes haven’t left you, focused hard, judging.

“Were you stopped by someone?” He asks, eyes narrowing as you flinch guiltily. “Who?”

“The Emissary.” You mumble under your breath, cutting your eyes away as you find the weights on the other wall suddenly riveting. “All he did was say hello, and thank me for saving you and your dad.” You answer truthfully, bending to reach your toes.

“That’s all?” Zenos questions. Really, you wonder if he had some built in lie detector or something on you.

“And...he also invited me to dinner later.” You mumble as quickly as possible.

“He did? Not my father?” Zenos presses, crouching down to pull you out of your stretch. His face is strangely serious, almost calculating.

“Yes. I believe to thank me for saving you and your dad.” You tell him, jumping as his grip on you tightens for a brief moment.

“Father.” He corrects while looking down at you, and you nod slowly. Standing to his full height, he seems to stare hard at nothing for a moment. “Continue your stretches. I’ve already finished warming up.”

Biting down on your lip, you watch as he seems to resist the urge to pace. Outwardly he doesn’t look too concerned, but you’ve been around him enough by this point to see that something is genuinely bothering him. If someone as immovable as him seems put out, perhaps you should be too. “Should I be worried?” You hazard, knowing full well he could either respond with sass or fury.

He pauses his musing to look at you, frost blue eyes shimmering as he mulls over his words. “Worried? Certainly not.” He huffs, the hint of a smirk pulling at his lips, but his brows furrow further. “If what is happening, is happening, it will be my problem; not yours.”

Frowning, you stand to your feet, beginning your arm stretches. “But I’m your bodyguard right? So if it’s your problem, pretty sure it’s mine too.” You counter, watching a single blonde eyebrow arch, before his lips curl into a full on smirk.

“Yes...you are mine, aren’t you?” He purrs, so deep and silky that for a moment you almost ignore what it was he said.

“I am your bodyguard, yes.” You correct, sticking your tongue out at him, not caring how childish you may look.

“I’d put that away unless you plan to use it, my beast.” He croons, eyes half lidded, and your tongue snaps back in your mouth like an old cartoon, staring wide eyed at your boss. Even in the stark, white light, his eyes glimmer darkly, a myriad of emotion swimming through them. A tension seems to fall upon the room under his hooded stare, growing more oppressive as he crosses over to you.

Standing before you, he shifts his weight to one leg, a hand slowly reaching out to take a lock of your hair between two fingers. Twirling the strands between them, his eyes slide to yours, half lidded. “Deny it all you like, my beast. You are mine, and mine alone, no matter how much you may hate me. Until you breathe your last breath, I never intend to let you go.”

Scoffing, you jerk slightly to pull the strands from his fingers, and he allows it. “Those words would almost be romantic if they weren’t said by a sociopath such as yourself.” You snarl, glaring hotly up at him, wishing anything you did would faze him. “I belong to no one, Zenos.”

He laughs, bending down into your space, and out of sheer spite do you not cow before him as he enters it. You feel the ends of his long, blonde hair tickle your skin, feel his cool breath ghost across your face. “Is it so wrong to belong? Do I not belong to you?”

Your brain halts at that statement, caught off guard. Zenos smirks, pressing even closer, your foot taking you backwards as to not have his lips meet your own. Zenos follows, step for step. “Have you not given me the challenge I’ve craved my entire life? Who else has been strong enough to sharpen my blade as I have sharpened theirs?” He asks, and you find you have no answer. You grunt as you nearly trip backwards over equipment, Zenos’ arm rushing out to grab your own and pull you close to him.

“I am hated by far too many than I care to keep count for. But you, my beast…” He purrs, arm snaking around your waist, holding you close as he once again leans into your space, “No one has challenged me as you have. You are in my thoughts every waking moment, the highlight of an otherwise dull and dreary day.” Pressed between him and the wall, you pray he cannot hear how your heart races inside your chest, how your face flushes red as he tries to press closer still.

“Do I not belong to you as well? She, who hates me with such ferocity, she, who does not cow before what could be certain death. Where others would bend and break, you tower over me with your might.” He praises, voice but a harsh whisper as if he is trying to convince you. “It is why I do not care how you spit and curse at me. Am I not yours to treat how you see fit?”

You don’t know what to say.

That Zenos thought you his own property was certain, but the knowledge that he thought him your property left you more than speechless.

That the son of one of the richest men living in Kugane would think himself beneath you.

That the man who would have men and women alike throwing themselves at his feet...

That the man who demanded respect by just walking in a room would let you flip him over your shoulder, snark and snap at him as if he was a bum off the street…

“I do not want you to be mine.” You murmur softly, meeting his gaze head on, unafraid.

“You do not have a choice.” He responds, not missing a beat, lips curling into a smirk. “Your survival depends on my protection. I will not suffer to see my father take yet another one of my bodyguards away from me.” He rumbles, voice low and threatening like the beginning of a summer storm. “And if you think I am unforgiving,...you would not last a day underneath my father.”

Swallowing thickly, you nod, hearing the genuine promise in his voice.

As he pulls away, you can’t help but gaze up at him, your heart still thudding in your chest. Smart as he was, what a fool he must be to be so enamored with you to let you treat him the way he does. Would he feel betrayed when you finally turned him in for his crimes along with his father?

Bile fills your throat for a brief moment, hand flying to your mouth as Zenos turns around to head back to the center of the room. Frowning, you bite down hard on your lip at the conflicting feelings in your chest, deciding not to think too hard on them for now. It is instead time to focus on your daily training, to prepare for the rest of the day.

You try to keep the thought of meeting with the Emissary at bay; he had seemed pleasant enough. Though you can’t say you at all expected for the voice of the world leader to pour out like ichor; for his unreadable, ruby gaze to land upon you, making you feel so much...younger than he. There was a wisdom to him that you couldn’t put your finger on, and you hoped to perhaps find more out at the looming dinner.

As the day passes on you begin thinking harder and harder on the dinner. It dawns on you much later how many important people will be at this table: a CEO, a dignitary (the dignitary) of Garlemald, and the son of the aforementioned CEO. Men who were all highly educated, incredibly rich, and unbearably snooty. It made you feel like you had walked out the boonies.

Would you be given something to wear? Was it that important? Would it be an actual dress?

“I can tell from the look on your face you are thinking much too hard about tonight.”

Your eyes slowly slide over from your place on one of the chairs to Zenos, who is sitting at his desk, flipping through stacks of paper, expression bored, but focused. “What’s on your mind?” he sighs, grabbing a fine ink pen to scribble something on a paper.

Deciding to humor him, you kick your legs over the arm of the chair, relaxing against the other. “It just occurred to me how many important people are going to be at this dinner.” You answer, deciding not to elaborate on your feelings.

His scoff is clearly heard across his spacious office. “Afraid you’ll embarrass yourself?” He teases, making another few choice marks on the paper. You frown at how he pegged you so easily, rolling your eyes as you stare at the mirrored ceiling.

“Hardly. Who needs to be embarrassed with skills like mine?” You retort, idly kicking your feet as you stare at your reflection. “I just wonder how I got here; a street rat as you so affectionately called me, coming to sit with a CEO, a foreign world leader, and the CEO’s son. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed…” You trail off, noticing Zenos has stopped scribbling away at whatever he was doing. “I can’t be so important right? Like, what does a whole ass world leader want with me, to come overseas just to give a thank you for saving some of his citizens in person? Unless…”

Unless you are important to him.

The thought gives you pause. While it wasn’t unheard of for some world leaders to be buddy buddy with some successful businessmen, most tried to keep from being in the public eye too much lest some sort of collusion would begin to be suspected. Despite being one of the most prominent figures within Kugane, very little was actually known about Varis: who he interacted with, his family, hells, even some doubted the truth of his origins.

“I too, wonder at Elidibus’ reasoning for coming over…” You hear Zenos murmur, returning back to writing, though at a slower pace. His brows are furrowed in concentration, as if he’s trying to make sense of the situation himself.

“Does he not visit often?” You ask with a shrug.

“No. In fact, the last reason he visited was only when my father’s tower was completed, and that was over four years ago. He does not oft visit my father. Whether it is due to his own responsibilities as the Emissary, or his own personal reasons, I do not know.” He sighs, neatly settling the papers and stacking them at the corner of his desk.

“Are he and your father like...friends?” The thought of anyone wanting to be Varis’ friend seems nigh impossible, but due to your job you can’t ignore the possibility.

“If they are friends, I wouldn’t know anything about it.” You turn your head to watch him recline in his high backed chair, leveling you with a neutral expression. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my beast, I have little to no desire to poke around my father’s personal affairs. So long as it does not affect my own life, I care little for what he does.”

You can’t stop your frown. You wonder what could’ve happened in his upbringing to cause such a dramatic rift; one so wide that you genuinely doubt there would be any healing for it. Zenos did not even hate his father; he merely felt nothing but unending apathy for him. Curiosity nagged in the back of your mind, wanting to know more about him, his family, why he was the way he was.

Never once did it cross your mind to ask in an attempt to dig for information. You wanted to know purely because you wanted to know.

“Either way, you have nothing to worry about. If anything, my father is just looking for an excuse to try and talk to you.” He sighs, the anger barely restrained in his voice.

Sitting up now, you meet his gaze head on. “Talk to me? I thought--”

“What is the reason Elidibus has invited you to dinner, Honey?” He cuts you off, eyes hard.

“To thank me for saving you and your father--”

“And what did I tell you would keep you from escaping my father’s notice?” He interrupts once more, his fists clenched tightly.

Dread seeps into your very bones as you realize what he’s getting at.

“My father has no use for anyone who is not willing to kill or be killed for him.” He hisses, his next words draining the color from your face. “By killing Lambard in order to save us, you just put yourself in his sights.”

It seemed if you excelled in anything, it was getting in deeper trouble than you were already in.

You tried not to blame yourself too heavily. You couldn’t fail your job by letting Zenos and Varis die; death would be too easy of an escape for all the crimes they’ve committed. Your hand had been forced; you had no other way to ensure their survival aside from ending Lambard’s life.

As much as you tell yourself that, the nightmares still plague you.

“Can I count on your father to behave himself?” You ask, staring out the window of the backseat of the car, watching as the city fades away into upper end housing.

Zenos arches a strong brow. “Behave?” He questions.

“If he calls me a savage, I’m decking him right in his fucking face.” You snarl, glaring at him fiercely as he barks out a laugh.

“As enjoyable a sight as that sounds, I can’t say I can predict how he’ll act. As I had said, I don’t know the nature of their relationship, but I’ve seen them around each other enough to hazard that my father will...behave like you wish.” His lips curl into a fierce smirk. “He must answer to the Emissary after all. And I will say Elidibus is certainly more sensitive.” He snorts derisively.

Tutting, you jab a finger sharply into his shoulder. “You could stand to be more sensitive.” You sneer, making sure to draw out every syllable of the word. You freeze as Zenos grabs your hand in his, holding tightly, but not so much you could not pull away if you wanted.

“Could I?” He purrs, thumb tracing nonsensical patterns on the back of your hand. His touch is like fire despite the crystalline gaze of his frigid blue eyes, each motion sending sparks along your skin. “I think you’ll find parts of me are certainly more sensitive than most, my beast.”

Flushing deeply, you stammer, unsure of what to say in the face of such an obvious innuendo. Quickly, you regain your cool. “I thought you said you did not mix business with pleasure.” You hiss, snatching your hand away, unconsciously pressing yourself against the opposite door for good measure.

“So I did.” He chuckles lowly, gaze half lidded. “Though I will say, it is certainly a stance I’ve considered...reevaluating.” His voice rumbles low and thick, so much so that you know you would’ve felt it if you continued to let him hold your hand. Unsure what to say, you mumble something about “lying rich boys” and refocus on the houses passing by, doing your best to ignore the satisfied air you know lurks right behind you.

Pulling up to the house, both you and Zenos exit the car, your eyes barely catching Ardbert's look of worry. You toss him an easy going smile over your shoulder, one that tells him not to worry. You may be in Varis' sights now, but you'll be damned before you ever worked under him. "Do I have to change into something nice?" you ask Zenos, opening the front door for him so that you two may step inside. Your dinners were often taken alone in a separate dining room while Zenos and Varis ate in the main one.

"I would suggest you change into something light and...appropriate. It's not a formal dinner, but as you had said before, you are in esteemed company." He answers truthfully, pausing as he reaches the spiraling staircase to the upper floors. "Dress modestly, comfortably."

Nodding you head to your own rooms to get out of your uniform and shower. You decide to not read too deep about his "modest" comment; if anything it was a genuine suggestion aa you were about to dine with a dignitary. You'd have to wear something that was already given to you upon your move here; no way any of the clothes you picked would be anywhere decent enough.

You decide to pick a floral top, not afraid to add a little feminine flair. Pink flowers trail across sheer black material, you modesty protected with the satin undershirt. You pair it with some fairly dressy jeans, the material smooth and obviously designer, but still casual so that you don’t look like you’re trying too hard. You glance back at the vanity in the bathroom for the moment, debating on at the very least putting on some mascara or some eyeliner, but decide against it. It was just a simple dinner, and you had no one to impress.

Stepping out your room, you take a calming breath, the mansion quieter with the day almost done. In a last minute decision you decided to go with some modest heels instead of flats, accentuating the line of your legs as your heels click on the immaculate tile floor once you begin making your way down the hall. You’ve brushed your hair to where you pray it looks presentable, having not nearly enough time to pull it into something fancy. A few housekeepers take note of your attire, some even whistling in jest as you stroll down the hall. It was well known that once you got home you usually threw on a t-shirt and shorts, scarfed down your dinner, and hid out in your room for the rest of the night.

Now, their second glances make you feel terribly self conscious.

Reaching the door to the dining hall, you pause. They know you’re outside obviously; your heels signaled your approach. Even still, you take the time to hesitate, worrying your lip for a moment before you take a deep breath and press down on the still bent door handle.

Immediately all eyes land on you, and you give a small bow. “Good evening.” You greet, eyeing the remaining chairs at the table. Varis sits at the head, Elidibus to his left and Zenos to his right. Instinct demands you sit at the opposite end, but that’s a power move you don’t want to play right now.

“Good evening.” Elidibus returns with a warm smile, his voice floating over to you like a gentle cloud. “Please, take a seat wherever you wish.” He offers.

Giving him a small smile of thanks, you decide to play it safe and sit next to Zenos and opposite of Elidibus. If Varis does try to start shit, Zenos hopefully would make a good buffer and stop you before you jeopardized your mission. Sitting next to the Emissary also wasn’t an option, not being nearly enough familiar, not wanting to offend.

Taking your seat in the high backed chair, you eye the many forks and spoons before you. Mentally you groan; you didn’t think rich people actually ate like this. They are all made of real silver, that much is obvious.

“Worry not about any high class etiquette tonight--” Elidibus purrs, his lips curled into a smile, “--most of them are for show anyway. Varis has always been one to flaunt his wealth.”

Unsure if that was a barb or not, you prepare to respond but Varis beats you to it. “One should show their hard earned possessions.” He huffs haughtily, golden eyes fixated on you. Keeping your expression neutral is a challenge in itself, meeting his gaze unafraid. “Also I believe that this is my dining room that you’re playing host in.”

“Indeed it is. My apologies.” Elidibus chuckles, and suddenly things feel tense.

Your eyes slide to Zenos for a moment for any kind of clue, but he stares off into the distance, bored. No help from him then.

“In that case, let me chat as a guest. I regret not being able to spend more time with you earlier this morning.” Elidibus says as he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers in his lap. “Had I known your morning was already taken up by young Zenos, I would have requested your time earlier. Varis seemed to leave out that tidbit.”

“Ah, forgive me then.” You titter nervously, feeling like a sheep in a den of wolves. It was one thing to win a fist fight, but a fight of words, of cunning and skill and never saying what you mean… that is where you were sorely outmatched. “Ever since I began my employment here, I have trained with Zenos at daybreak.”

“Zenos?” Elidibus echoes, red eyes sparkling like rubies. “You two are so...familiar?”

Your eyes dart to the aforementioned man who is now looking back at you. You can feel your face heat up under his scrutiny, despite his father and a whole ass dignitary being in the room. “I suppose we have become more casual, as time has gone on?” You wince at how your voice ticks upwards with uncertainty, daring to take a glance at the man across the table.

“I see. No wonder you were so...vicious in saving young Zenos and his father.” It is worded as a statement, but it is almost as if he is musing to himself out loud. “I have only heard bits and pieces of the tale; would you mind regaling me in the details?”

“She will not.”

Zenos has spoken for the first time since you had entered the room, his icy gaze settled on the Emissary. Elidibus doesn’t look fazed by Zenos’ warning stare, though unlike Varis, he merely looks amused. “Oh?”

“Mind your tongue, boy.” Varis warns, and Zenos’ glare turns downright murderous as he stares down his father. Varis doesn’t flinch, unblinking as he steps in to reprimand his son. You resist the urge to just slink under the table and slide out the door, your nerves frazzled beyond belief and you’re positive you’ve only been in the room no more than ten minutes.

“It is fine, let him speak. She is his charge after all…” His stress on being his does not escape your notice, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as his ruby eyes twinkle with unsaid plans. So occupied with his jewel like eyes, you do not notice Varis’ perpetual frown somehow deepening.

“If you are lacking in details, Emissary, there is a reason for such. If you are truly so curious, I’m sure my father can avail you of the details privately.” His voice is like steel, seeming almost non-threatening to anyone who doesn’t know him, but you can hear the threat in his voice.

“This is certainly true, young Zenos. I did not mean to overstep my bounds.” Elidibus offers diplomatically. You don’t doubt Zenos seeing it for what it is, but it seems to placate him for the time being. “Though I must wonder, will you be keeping such skill to yourself?”

“Of course.” Zenos answers with zero hesitation. “Father has enough guards; he had hounded me to get one of my own, and now I have her.”

“I see.” Elidibus murmurs, once again musing aloud. He seems to be digging for clues, but clues for what? What are his plans?

Maybe it was time to start asking questions of your own.

“If I may be so bold,” you begin, “you’ve been awfully curious about me, Emissary, while I am ashamed to say I don’t know much about yourself.”

You’ve clearly caught him off guard, surprise shining in his eyes for a moment before a genuine respect shines in them. “I am not one to praise myself, Miss…”

“Honey is fine, remember?” you advise, not at all liking the idea of being called Miss Honey.

“Indeed. I try not to make a habit of talking about myself, especially due to my position, but I will do my best to answer any questions you may have.”

Nodding, you do your best to phrase your next question carefully. “I have to say I was pretty surprised to see a Garlean dignitary here, in Lord Varis’ home no less. Are you perhaps old friends?”

Elidibus lets out a rich laugh at that, the sound pleasant and smooth like whiskey. “If we are anything, it is colleagues. We met when we were younger, just starting to break out into the world. Since then, we have kept up with each other’s life events. I was there for Zenos’ birth, and the unfortunate death of his mother.”

An incredibly safe answer from what you could tell. “I see. Then I suppose it makes sense why you would come to visit after such a...life threatening situation.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment the door to the kitchen opens, Lyngsath’s bulk crowding through. “Good evening, Emissary! It is an honor to host you once again!” he booms, pearly white teeth twinkling in the low light from the chandelier. With that, it seems questions are to be put on hold as dinner is served.

Your suspicions about the family eating better than you are confirmed; everything put before you looks amazing. Not that you’re fed absolute gruel, but the mole loaf placed before you has gravy on it. Gravy! Such frivolities were excluded from your diet (thanks to Zenos) and you did your best to not look like a pig as you savored each bite. You were tempted to ask for seconds but didn’t want to push your luck, sensing that Zenos might give you an earful of maintaining peak physical form. It made no sense he ate like this every night and wasn’t restricting his own diet.

“I believe I will be retiring for tonight.” Zenos dabs at his lips gently with a cloth napkin, gently pushing his chair away from the table to stand. You glance at your plate, still a bit hungry, hoping that now with Zenos gone, you can sneak into the kitchen and tell Lyngsath to save any leftovers for later.

“Come, Honey. We must rest for tomorrow.”

Goddammit.

“It seems we must part for now. Thank you for your company, Honey.” Elidibus croons, your name sounding like silk passing his lips, the rich baritone of his voice making you shiver. You throw a cautious glance at Zenos who is glaring daggers at the Emissary and decide to expedite your exit.

“A pleasure to meet you as well, I am not often in such good company. I wish you safe travels,”

“Ah, ah. I will remain here in Hingashi for a while yet. It’s been some time since I’ve been able to relax. Hopefully, we will have time to get more acquainted with one another?” He’s pretty much backed you into a corner with a yes or no question, so you pray a carefully crafted “maybe” won’t offend.

“So long as I have the time. As you’ve heard, protecting these men is very busy work.” Your voice betrays none of your feelings as you stand from the table, moving to the door where Zenos stands.

“So they are. Good night, Honey.” Elidibus grins, raising his wine glass to you.

“Good night.” You wave, stepping out the door into the hallway, Zenos close behind. It is quiet for a few moments as you do your best to casually look over your shoulder. He’s shrouded in shadow in the dark hallway, the blue glow of the moonlight softening his otherwise sharp features, though the way his crystal blue eyes catch the light, he still looks more beast than man. “Well. See you in the morning…” you trail off, giving him a little wave as you begin to walk away.

“And just where are you going?” He asks, amusement dancing alongside the venom in his voice.

“Oh, nowhere. I was just gonna...uh…” you suddenly blank on every other room that is in the direction of the kitchen. “...go out into the garden for awhile.” you lie.

He doesn’t buy it. “Oh? So eager to take a dip in the fountain again?” he taunts, his eyes predatory but there is a...different edge to them somehow. His steps to close the distance between you feel almost like a prowl, keeping you rooted there, unmoving.

“Hardly.” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest. “What’s it to you anyway? I’m off duty as soon as we come in this house. You said so yourself. What I do on my own time is no business of yours.” you snarl, to which the Garlean looks somewhat unsettled for a brief moment before quiet fury rolls off him in waves.

“Perhaps it is so, my beast…” he purrs, still for but a moment until he pounces, your back against the closest wall, your wrists pinned beneath his hands. “You might think yourself only in my employ, but you require me for your survival...more than ever.” The way his voice drops brings your heart to a halt for a split second as fear shoots through you like lightning.

Does he know?

Pressing closer against you, he sighs, hair hanging in his face as he looms above you. “I don’t know what my father plans, but I am certain that after your stunt at the hospital he will stop at nothing to have you. This is the most I’ve ever denied him from taking what does not belong to him.” He pauses for a moment, creeping closer still. You are chest to chest now, bodies breathing in tandem in the quiet of the hallway.

“But whatever it is, you should fear it. I know little of my father aside from pain and apathy, and that he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. I’m also sure you don’t need me to tell you that Elidibus’ extended stay is also room for suspicion either.” His voice vibrates through your entire, physical being, his lips seeming just a hair’s breadth too close, and yet malms away at once. You can smell his scent up this close, something musky, something wild.

“Then what do you suppose I should do?” You ask, noticing how his gaze drops to your lips so fast that if you blinked you would’ve missed it.

As he smirks from this close, you realize how handsome he is. How much of him you do admire, from his brilliant teeth, to his pouty lips. His frigid, blue eyes that could spark like a blue flame under his ire. His skin, perfect like porcelain, smooth and unmarred in the moonlight, his hair shining like golden thread.

His hands that leave your wrists to steady themselves at your hips.

“Haven’t I told you before?” he asks, fingers flexing on the flesh of your hips, hinting at a different kind of strength.

“Remind me.” You whisper, searching his gaze for something. Anything.

He huffs out a chuckle, pulling you closer still.

“Be mine.”

[raelly-writing]

Prompt 10: Avail - FFXIV Write 2020

Honestly, this sort of stuff isn’t my strong point when it comes to writing, and I will freely admit to that. But, it seemed like a interesting idea and I got to note to myself some stuff I’d want to write about properly at some other time.

Start of the Il Mheg portion of Shadowbringers, spoilers applies as such. Some warnings about selfloathing language. I wrote this off from memory so not sure how it fits in with the game overall. ._.

---

As they left Lydha Lran and the elven twins behind, Minfilia kept her eyes on the road as she silently walked by Thancred’s side.

She’d angered him, going off on her own to heed that call in her heart to find the one who had returned the night sky to Lakeland. His harsh words, reprimanding her for leaving his side and getting caught still rang loud and clear in her ears. Digging her nails into the palm of her hands, Minfilia fought back the wave of heavy, choking turmoil that threatened to burst from her chest.

A burden, as always.

Hesitating for a moment, she dared to steal a glance at the hume woman that was walking on the other side of Thancred. Viana - the one he and Urianger had been waiting for to arrive. The one who could vanquish the Lightwardens for good.

Suppose, with her arrival, there was not much use Minfilia could be to them now. What use was a contingency when the desired option was available?

Before she looked away, she caught sight of the hard set to Thancred’s jaw. Unease rolled in her stomach. Was he still that upset with her, that it’d marred what Minfilia had assumed would be a welcome reunion?

Instead, a tense silence seemed to hang over the pair. Strange, he had always spoken fondly of her, even though… there had at times, when he was distracted by something else, been something sad and wistful in his tone. Perhaps she could ask Urianger, once they reached his house.

“So… I suppose it is my turn to ask how you learned to fight with a gunblade?”

The soft, uncertain tone took Minfilia by surprise, and she quickly stole a glance at Viana. It seemed so out of place from someone who appeared so imposing and relentless in battle. Not even the chaos of dealing with the pixies had seemed to face her much. But now, a small, hesitant smile quirked the corner of her mouth as she eyed Thancred. “Don’t tell me Radovan taught you, and neither of you decided to tell me.”

Suddenly, dark green eyes caught her gaze, and despite the friendly look in them, realising that she had been staring, Minfilia quickly lowered her eyes to the cobbled stone road once more.

“No, I picked it up while in Garlemald,” Thancred replied, his tone light and unbothered. “Ran into a fellow by the name of Rostik, one of your teacher’s old comrades, there. After giving him some help with some imperial soldiers and mentioning that I knew of another survivor of Bozja, he offered to teach me in turn.”

“What? And you didn’t tell me after you got back?”

“As you may recall, Alisaie all but hauled your right off to Othard to look for Alphinaud.”

Despite what she’d been told over the years, Minfilia’s head still swam with the names. To think that such a whole, vibrant world existed somewhere - and that they all hailed from it.

“Fair, I suppose,” Viana hummed thoughtfully. “Radovan will be delighted to hear that someone else survived though.”

“I take it Rostik has not managed to track him down yet, then.”

“No, the war has probably made travel harder since you crossed the border.” There was a small pause. “How do you charge the cartridges though? Or can you use magic here?”

“No, I fear my limitations followed me here.” Minfilia startled when she felt Thancred’s hand atop her head. Eyes wide, she looked up to find Viana already giving her a curious look.

“Minfilia prepares my cartridges for me.” 

A smile softened Viana’s features, but it was marred by that familiar trace of sadness that Minfilia knew all too well. Every one of them seemed to give her that look. Like they wanted to be kind to her and yet… yet she was just a painful reminder of someone they’d held dear.

“Oh? Are you able to use magic then?” Viana asked gently.

“N-not particularly,” Minfilia replied softly. The weight of Thancred’s hand disappeared, and she returned her eyes to the stone road once more. “Urianger have tried to teach me some but…”

“We only visit here every few months, if even that,” Thancred continued. “I’ve trained her to use knives instead.”

“Yes, I saw her fight at the fort, before you got there,” Viana replied. “Your style was rather recognisable.”

A sudden pit formed in Minfilia’s stomach. How would she even keep up with everyone else when next they faced combat? Viana seemed just as strong as Thancred, and Minfilia had seen him fell all manner of beasts and sin eaters. And what she had seen so briefly of the twins’ skills, they seemed at least as talented. And Urianger was so learned and wise, and from what they’d told her, their last remaining companion was just as skilled at magic as he…

“Had the war with Garlemald broken out, and the Exarch hadn’t done what he did,” Thancred spoke with a low tone, distracting her from her anxious thoughts. “I figured I would avail myself of Y'shtola or Urianger’s aid to prepare cartridges for me - so you…” For a heartbeat, he hesitated. “So that I could be of some aid at the battlefield proper.”

The flat firmness to his voice reminded her of when he was correcting her on something, telling her how to do it better or correcting her before she made a mistake. Minfilia looked up, trying to remember how much further they had to go before they reached Urianger’s home. It felt like she was intruding, that there was something lingering between them that neither seemed willing to speak of in her presence. It seemed strange. Had not Urianger said they had been good friends before Thancred had arrived in the First? Viana had seemed so happy to see him before, but now she was quiet and withdrawn.

It was Viana who broke the silence, her voice soft, “It worked, you know. Your plan.”

“What?”

“To cause turmoil in Garlemald. Riol carried it out after you were… indisposed.” Minfilia caught the flicker of pain in her voice and cast a quick look their way. They weren’t looking at each other, eyes firmly fixed ahead of them as they kept walking. She was curious about who it was they spoke of, and what plan of Thancred’s that had supposedly been carried out. But she kept her silence, unwilling to intrude on what felt like a personal conversation. Uncertain, she hung back a little, falling a few steps behind Thancred.

“I only know what news Alisaie brought with her and that it did come to war after all,” Thancred responded.

The bitter note to his voice sparked a memory in Minfilia’s mind. One night, when she should have been asleep, she had overheard him and Urianger speaking. It must have been after Alisaie’s arrival, for Thancred had been exasperated and restless, his hushed voice still carrying through the room as he’d spoken about ‘her’ being left alone amidst a war, and that he had all rights to be concerned for her. It had seemed clear that he cared for her and yet... they seemed so distant.

“Well, the short of it is that the ascian possessing Zenos came to the battlefield,” Viana responded with a heavy sigh. “He defeated Hien, Yugiri and Lyse, and…” She paused and turned her head to quickly look at Thancred. “Well, let’s say I did not prevail once I arrived. By sheer luck, Estinien - the dragoon from Ishgard, if you remember? - was in the area and came to my aid.”

There was a tension in Thancred’s shoulders, even evident from where Minfilia was walking. She had no idea what a dragoon was, nor where Ishgard was. Curiosity tugged at her once more, a yearning to learn and understand. Perhaps she could ask Viana later. She did seem nice, after all.

“Did you drive the ascian back together?” Thancred asked, a suddenly hard edge to his voice that always seemed to appear whenever he spoke of those dark being. Anger and hostility, resentment for something Minfilia was not privvy to.

A bitter chuckle rose from Viana’s chest as she waved a hand dismissively. “No, I fear Estinien hauled my unconscious body out of there like a sack of popotoes and deposited me into Aymeric’s arms. I didn’t even get to thank him - I woke up in a room back in Ishgard. By then, the rumours had forced the imperials to withdraw their forces.”

Thancred looked away, seemingly surveying the hillside above the road. “How prudent of Ser Aymeric to see to your health with such care,” he responded evenly.

Viana shrugged. “He’s a good friend, Thancred,” she answered firmly, as if she was trying to convey something to him. “I think he just wished for me to recuperate away from the bustle of a field camp.”

“Well, I’m sure Urianger will wish to hear about it all as well. That’s his house over there.”

Minfilia perked up. She’d been so caught up trying to decipher what precisely was going on that she’d completely missed that Urianger’s house had come into view from around a bend in the road.

“Didn’t go for something understated, did he?” Viana snorted.

“Oh, you just wait,” Thancred drawled.

Yes, she’d have to ask Urianger about them later, when she had the chance to.

[windupalisaie]

unburdened & content

(alisaie/wol | romantic fluff  | post stormblood - a year after ala mhigo’s liberation | 3178 words) 

A pair of arms emerged from the dark and wound around Alisaie's waist. Her hand reached for the hilt of her rapier on instinct, only to remember that the blade usually strapped to her belt wasn’t there. For a brief, fleeting moment, she panicked.

"Guess who?"

The question was caught between velvet and silk, with a light rasp that clung to otherwise smooth words. The warmth of a familiar giggle danced against Alisaie’s neck and her ear, bringing with it the equally familiar scent of petals and spice that mingled with a rich thread of wine. Alisaie relaxed.

"You're far too adept at cloaking yourself in shadow, Warrior of Light."

She did her best to not make the surprise she'd briefly felt obvious and made sure the title was a sharp little knife when she spoke it—much like the ones its bearer often threw around without care. The shadow behind her giggled again upon being unmasked. 

"Caught me," Poppy replied in a rueful, singsong way and leaned forward to prop her chin on Alisaie’s shoulder. "Just wanted to see if my darling little wallflower is enjoying herself."

The jab was gentle, edged only with a hair of playful sharpness. Still, Alisaie glanced sidelong in a way she knew was petulant—eyes narrowed and lips pursed—at the woman who used her as a headrest. When she caught sight of the bright eyes that stared back at her, crinkled with a sweet and genuine smile, Alisaie couldn't help but smile in return.

"I'm enjoying myself as much as I can," she said, sounding droll. She crossed her arms and leaned back into her love's embrace, sighing lightly to punctuate her response.

Parties were never Alisaie’s preferred environment. Forced pleasantries and talk of politics were always Alphinaud’s forté, but she'd learned to endure it all in her own way. She was never sorely missed in the moments between conversations, even after slipping away to the darkened sidelines to catch her breath. 

It’d been a long evening of speeches and socializing. Ala Mhigans were a lively bunch, at the very least, and, to their credit, the celebration could hardly be considered stiff. Alisaie smiled again when she looked across the crowd and caught glimpses of her fellow Scions, who all mingled amongst members of the Resistance and leadership from the Eorzean city-states.

"I have to admit,” Alisaie said quietly, “it’s good to see everyone together again." 

A warm feeling of contentment tinged her words. The hum of agreement Poppy replied with held a similar warmth. 

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she asked.

The question gave Alisaie pause. The memory of the night they were all together last was vivid despite being years old at that point, and replayed in her mind as if through the clear facets of an unaspected crystal:

Having defeated the Warriors of Darkness and collected their missing comrades, every Scion had crowded into the Solar of the Rising Stones in attendance of an impromptu meeting called by Alphinaud in order to decide the course of their future. It felt like an epoch ago, before their entanglement in the war, in a time when Lyse still counted herself among their ranks and before Papalymo—

Alisaie shook her head to clear the thoughts away. The motion helped combat the stab of sadness that suddenly slipped into her gut like a knife.

"It has," she said in agreement, quiet and just a bit somber. As if sensing her tension, the arms around Alisaie's waist tightened their embrace.

"Well,” Poppy said, “I can see you're clearly having the time of your life here, but—" before Alisaie could even think up a quip in return, Poppy cut the teasing short to continue, "—want to sneak away with me for a bit?"

The question, along with the puff of breath that came with it, pushed against Alisaie's neck and made the skin there prickle into gooseflesh. She turned her head, enticed already, and smirked at the sight of the playful twinkle in Poppy's eyes.

"Lead the way," Alisaie replied. She didn't bother with hesitation, having learned long ago that it was best to just play along with her love's mischief, and was rewarded with a flash of sharp teeth.

Poppy's arms released her, but her hand slid against Alisaie's a breath later until their fingers tangled together, pulled taut as knots. The gentle tug that came soon after was a wordless command to follow.

Poppy led her through the darkened edges of the ballroom with the silence expected of one whose multitude of titles included the darkest shadow. It was a marvel how she seemed to thread the ambient aether around them both to form a cloak of darkness that shielded from prying eyes. Alisaie was ever-appreciative of the discreet ways Poppy always managed to rescue her from the boredom of parties with.

When they broke free of the confines of the celebration, Poppy let the shadows fall away. The palace opened up around them, all gold and buff marble and towering pillars holding up lofty domed ceilings that filled Alisaie with awe. She hadn't explored the massive place so thoroughly before, but noted how all previous manners of Garlemald had been expunged, replaced instead with rightful banners of rich purple and alabaster griffins.

The hoods of the Resistance were styled after the very same majestic beasts, with beaks that dipped down in respect towards the Warrior of Light and her companion, as they allowed the two women past their guard. A grand staircase was ascended, and Alisaie suspected she found herself on the famed Royal Menagerie when they emerged onto a sweeping terrace paved in ecru tile.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Poppy's question broke through the prolonged, though comfortable, silence that had slipped between them. Alisaie hummed her appreciation at the sight of flowers that swayed in chilled gusts of night air, painted in shades ranging from vermilion to rosy pink. Still hand in hand, they stepped towards the center of the garden and among rows of massive flowerbeds. When Poppy's hand slipped away from hers, it was replaced with a crisp coolness that made Alisaie miss her touch.

"This is where I fought him." Poppy moved towards the nearest plot and bent over to pluck a flower from its bed. There was a slowness to her motions that made it look like she was in pain, or that she feared the bloom she held might shatter at her touch. "A lot of things ended here," she added. The words seeped quietly into the night, heavy with the weight of troubling memories.

Alisaie knew that Zenos met his end on the Menagerie. She hadn't expected it to be a place so serene, though it was clear that the serenity didn't reach Poppy fully. Something about her demeanor changed as she held the flower up. Her eyes narrowed in deep thought and perhaps in anger as the sliver of moon that hung above them outlined her profile with a soft, pale glow. Though the light was scant, it still reflected off her eyes like a flicker of cold flame.

Alisaie watched her, unsure what to say. When her gaze fell to the jagged scar visible beneath the chest wrappings of Poppy’s sparse armor, the red of the flowers briefly brought the phantom, coppery tang of blood to her nose. Her own anger flared in an unbidden flash of heat, directed at herself for not being able to stand at Poppy’s side during that final battle. 

"Many things began here as well," Alisaie said after a moment. She unclenched her fists and shed her senseless anger—it would do her little good a year late, after all—then offered Poppy a determined little smile instead. "Ala Mhigo's unfettered future, for one."

Poppy remained entranced by the flower in her grasp. Alisaie’s words broke through her silent musing and she lifted her head to meet her gaze, seeming startled and unsure. She exhaled a breath that felt like it lasted an age, but also seemed to lighten her burden, if only just a bit.

"I didn't want this place to be soured, is all," Poppy explained with a shrug, sounding sheepish, and glanced back down at the flower that twirled between her fingertips. Its pink petals held fast to the stem despite the abuse. "It's too pretty for that. So I brought you. It can't be sour if there's memories of you here."

Alisaie huffed at the flattery, though a smile still tugged at the corner of her mouth just enough to betray her. Poppy caught sight of it in an instant—fast enough to act before Alisaie could squeeze in a retort.

"Enough talk,” Poppy said and waved a hand before her face, as if she meant to swipe the dreary cobwebs of old memories away. “Dance with me?"

The question caught Alisaie off guard. Her wide-eyed gawping was likely what pulled the smile back onto her partner’s lips.

“Dance? Here?”

Her incredulity sharpened that smile to a wolfish grin. “Why not?”

It was a challenge, if she’d ever heard one. Alisaie stared at the hand extended towards her for a moment before she rose to it. 

"If you insist,” she replied, tone tart. “I'll indulge my dear Warrior."

Fingers brushed together and a step closed the gap of space between them. Poppy's free hand deftly tucked the flower she held into Alisaie's hair, where it made its new bed just above her ear. She smirked at the gesture, though the gentleness of it filled her with warmth.

Poppy took both of Alisaie’s hands in hers. Alisaie looked down at them, feeling calluses brush against her own, seeing scars stretch pale lines across olive skin. Poppy's nails were filed down to minuscule points and lacquered a dusty, petal pink that matched the flower she'd just held. The charming style of it suited her.

Alisaie remembered, suddenly, something her mother often said to scold her long ago, when she was but a young girl who had a bad habit of chewing on her nails while she read: you can learn much about someone with just a glance at their fingernails, and thus you must needs care for your own. She'd never quite understood the meaning behind those words. Not until she saw Poppy’s hands.

She remembered long nails carved into menacing points on the eve of many a battle, ones that were sharp enough to be considered knives in their own right. She remembered the aftermaths, the bandages wound around palms, the nails splintered and shattered, with blood caught underneath, sullied in conflicts won. She remembered still how in the darkest hours they were left overgrown and haloed by purplish bruises, left untouched by self-imposed neglect. 

Those were the hands of the Warrior of Light, of the soldier, of the weapon. The hands that held Alisaie’s then were a stark contrast that bespoke contentment and peace, rather than the hardships of war.

Alisaie remembered, also, the scent of wine on Poppy's breath when she snuck up on her, and caught it faintly between them then in their closeness, still rich and sweet. She thought of how Poppy had always quailed at the sight of a goblet and eyed opened bottles with obvious suspicion. Alisaie was surprised that she'd indulged, especially after having confided in her long ago about the fears that followed after the night in Ul'dah, and the other at Falcon's Nest.

Then it clicked into place: Poppy felt safe. Her myriad of wounds, no matter how countless, had begun to heal. The realization warmed Alisaie further.

"Ready?" Poppy asked, snapping her back to the present with amused impatience. "Or are you stalling?"

"I assure you that I'm not," Alisaie replied, tone tart once more. She straightened her back and pulled Poppy closer. "Lead the way," she said for a second time that night, and knew how she sneered likely made it sound more like a challenge of her own.

Poppy, of course, rose to that challenge in an instant. Their positions were sorted out, with hands finding waists and shoulders and holding one another. And thus their dance began.

Alisaie thought it would be nigh impossible with no music to guide them, but Poppy managed to surprise her, as she always did. She pulled them both along with her usual ease, her movements fluid, following the thrum of some unheard melody that steered her. Alisaie kept up through sheer determination alone, loathe to be outdone by her partner.

"You look a bit impressed," Poppy said after a while. She twirled them around with an effortless grace that somehow managed to come off as smug. Alisaie rolled her eyes.

"Quite. I'm impressed you haven't tripped over me yet."

Poppy tutted her disapproval before a wicked grin lit up her face. She was clearly undeterred by the comment.

"Oho, but you haven't seen anything yet!"

Both her hands traveled to Alisaie's waist and wrapped around her back, pulling her closer before she was urged backwards again. She half expected to be dropped to the ground, but Poppy held tight, dipping her so low that her head brushed against the flowers beneath her. Alisaie stared up at her, silent with surprise, and instinctively wrapped her arms around Poppy’s neck in fear of falling.

The ornate bits of gold sewn onto Poppy's formal battle garb glistened beneath the moon's half crescent and clinked together softly as she shifted to lean over. The sharp pauldron that jutted from her shoulder cut into the night sky above her, and the fearsome daggers that hung from her hips shone as moonlight pooled along the faded scars that cut across her cheek and lips. She looked every bit like the gilded hero of legend she was oft made out to be, and Alisaie couldn't help but be enchanted by the sight.

Poppy's smugness melted into satisfaction, then turned to something even softer. Her lips grazed against Alisaie’s in a feather-light kiss that stole the breath from her lungs, and her eyes fluttered closed when a more firm kiss followed.

She was practically gasping when Poppy pulled away, only to peer down at her warmly from beneath long lashes. The florid sweetness of the blooms that danced all around them clouded Alisaie's already reeling mind.

"You—" words failed her for a moment, as she'd been completely disarmed. "You… you hopeless, senseless romantic! You were planning this all along, weren't you?"

The amorous moment was shattered when another grin broke across Poppy's face. She laughed at the accusation as she straightened her back, pulling Alisaie up with ease.

"Caught me again. It's your own fault, though," Poppy said in a singsong way while her eyes narrowed with mischief. "I love you enough to prance around like a fool, after all. Lucky you," she added, tail swishing behind her in satisfaction.

Alisaie should have been more irritated from the embarrassment of being briefly turned into a blushing, swooning maiden, but no such feelings of contempt ever came. Only a warm fondness filled her, along with an amusement that pushed past her lips as a chuckle that Poppy shared in.

Poppy released Alisaie from her grasp, but didn't back away. Their hands came together again in a wordless want for contact, and they swayed, fingers twined and cheeks pressed together. It was a ghost of their previous dance, though more pleasant with the added closeness.

"I am lucky," Alisaie said after a while, quiet and assured. When Poppy chuckled again in reply, Alisaie felt the sound rumble against her. 

"I'm glad you think so."

There was a frailty and shyness behind the words that made Alisaie's heart stutter. She caught the faint thread of wine on Poppy’s breath again, felt the subtle sharpness of nails against her palms, and her thoughts abruptly turned to the precariousness of it all. The state of the realm, their lives, their love—everything felt so delicate.

It felt like madness, sometimes, to think of the breadth of her love for Poppy. And it was madness, for how could she fall in love with a whirling tempest, or the harsh crackle of a roaring fire, or the sharpened end of a freshly polished knife, or the light, blooming warmth of hope? It was a foolish notion to fall in love with intangible, fleeting things, but Alisaie was stubborn and ever content in that folly, because she knew that the Warrior of Light was no weapon cast in metal to be wielded, nor a statue carved of stone to be worshiped—she was but a woman of flesh and blood who loved just as deeply as she did.

Their love was foolish, perhaps, and it was terrifying. The feeling was fragile, caught between them like a little bird, its frantic wing beats not unlike the fluttering of their hearts. Yet in all its fragility, it also held an unfathomable strength. It was an act of defiance to love a hero, Alisaie knew, as it was to be a hero in love. But together, they were both stronger for it.

"You're so quiet tonight," Poppy whispered, and Alisaie felt the warmth of her curious concern brush across her cheek. "A lot on your mind?"  

"Yes," Alisaie admitted. There was no point in lying, but she didn't quite know how to articulate the thoughts that occupied her. 

Poppy hummed. It was a thoughtful little sound. She pulled back just enough so Alisaie could see that her face was twisted into an unimpressed look.

"You think too much," she said, and it sounded almost like a scolding. And in that moment, Alisaie had to hold back the laugh she felt bubble up at the absurdity of it all.

“Well,” she began to reply without a breath of hesitation, "between the two of us, someone has to."

The jab pulled a pout onto Poppy's lips. Alisaie couldn't help but smirk.

"Seems like my wallflower is more of a nettle," Poppy said, speaking with as much sharpness as the mentioned plant. "Thinking is for politicians. In case you’ve forgotten, we're the ones who fight," she reminded her pointedly. She then heaved a dramatic sigh and moved backwards to step onto a flowerbed, pulling Alisaie along with her. "Though, I guess there's not much fighting to do for now,” she said with a thoughtful tilt of her head, before continuing with her usual mischief: “All that's left to do is dance!" 

They were surrounded on all sides by flowers. Poppy took Alisaie’s hands again and spun them both around. Alisaie conceded, grinning as she gave in to her love's whims, and the fondness that filled her heart made her feel as resilient as the blooms that bent against their movements.

"I suppose I can't argue with that."

Alisaie loved Poppy always, but loved her most as she was then: unburdened and content, twirling among petals, bathed in scant moonlight as she laughed. There were no titles, no duties, no pain. She was purely herself, and that was all who she needed to be.

[nadana-vhet]

Prompt 12: Tooth & Nail

Rating: Teen? cw violence I did not mean for this to get so angsty I’m sORRY.

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“Your friends were a disappointment. But you – you will entertain me, will you not?”

N’adana readied her shield as Zenos approached her, vision closing in as she focused solely on her opponent. Her surroundings quickly blurred around him – the burning of Rhalgar’s Reach, the smell of smoke and blood, the presence of Alisaie and Pippin flanking her as they prepared to fight with her.

But all she could see was him.

He did that to Shtola.

N’adana charged forward with a fierceness her friends had scarcely seen before. Her blade clashed with Zenos’s, no room for error on either side of the fight. Watching them fight was like being in a trance – blades moved faster than you could keep track, both blocking and parrying each other in a deadly dance.

“I have no need for this rabble,” he spat, knocking the three of them back in opposite directions away from him. I am much more interested in you, he seemed to say as his predatory eyes practically burned a hole through her chest.

N’adana recovered quickly, the adrenaline coursing through her too strong to keep her down for more than a moment. “Alisaie, Pippin!”

“We’re fine – don’t worry about us!” she heard Alisaie call out, but she couldn’t see where she was. Her vision was still focused on Yae Galvus, who stalked towards her at a languid pace.

N’adana rushed towards him once more, and once she made contact she pushed all of her weight against her shield and into his chest. He used his sword to push back, knocking her to the ground and quickly trying to take a stab at her. She was fortunate enough to roll out of the way and stand once again, throwing herself at him again with no hesitation.

“Hm, yet you stand. Mayhap you have potential,” he growled, parrying her sword once again.

Despite all physical odds, N’adana pushed back furiously against every swing and stab he managed to throw at her.  Each parry and swing became like second nature to her – like fighting was breathing itself.

Her vision was going red by now, throwing every ounce of her being into her efforts to best Zenos Yae Galvus. “You killed them, you monster!” she screamed as she swung at him, “I will not let you live after what you’ve done!”

“Don’t stop now…” he purred, pleased at how easily the Warrior of Light quickly sank to such a bloodthirsty level of anger.

It was so easy to push her further down as she fought tooth and nail against him. She wasn’t deterred in the slightest, brushing off every hit or swipe like it was nothing. She slammed her tiny body against his chest so hard that he actually stumbled.

She wanted him dead in that moment. She wanted his being to be erased from very existence.

Before she could take advantage of his weakness, he pushed back, N’adana barely avoiding is counter.

“It would seem I misjudged you. This ends now.”

And then suddenly, N’adana was on the ground. The burning sky above her spun as she heard the heavy thud of footsteps approaching her.

The miqo’te tried desperately to stand, but he was upon her by the time she had gotten up to her knees. He slashed at her before she could pick up her sword again, cutting a gash straight through her breastplate and across her stomach.

“N’adana!” she heard a familiar voice call, but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. All she could smell was smoke, all she could taste was blood, and all she could feel was searing pain.

“Pathetic.”

It was the last thing she heard before everything went dark.

 -----------------------------------------------------------

N’adana groaned as she came back into consciousness, and suddenly all she could hear was “oh, thank the gods you’re awake.”

She opened her eyes to see the twins sitting dutifully at her bedside in the infirmary of Rhalgar’s Reach. The light that threatened to blind her also let her know it was about midday, through the archways in the stone that lead outside.

“How are you feeling?” Alphinaud leaned forward, pushing her back down onto the cot as she tried to sit up.

“Like shit,” she managed, though she didn’t know how, since her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton bolls. “Is Shtola- “

“She’s recovering just fine,” Alisaie assured her, standing up and moving over to a table where she began to pick out pieces of bread and cheese before bringing them back over and putting the plate next to the bedside table. “Eat when you’re ready. I’m sure you’re hungry – you’ve been out for two days.”

“Two days?” N’adana groaned, this time pushing away Alphinad’s hands as she forced herself to sit up. Her stomach growled as she picked up the plate of bread and cheese, suddenly too hungry to restrain herself as she shoved a piece of cheese in her mouth.

Alphinaud nodded, “You collapsed after helping some of the wounded, assumedly from loss of blood. It may have just been the fact that I was preoccupied with healing others, but it didn’t even seem that you were as injured as you were.” He went on to explain how there was now a nasty new scar across her stomach and ribs, but he did his best to minimize the damage as much as possible. “Let me go get you some soup, I’m sure you’ll want something more substantial than that,” he smiled softly at her, squeezing her hand gently before he got up.

Once Alphinaud was out of earshot, Alisaie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “So, about that fight with Zenos,” she bit her lip as if she were nervous. Worried. “The way you were fighting, I… I’ve never seen you fight like that before. It was as if you were-“

“Just like him?”

“That’s not what I was going to- “

“I know, it’s just…” N’adana hung her head, catching herself with her hand and rubbing her forehead, “When I saw what he did to Shtola, everything just… went red. I had this uncontrollable urge to rip him limb from limb, to destroy his very being.”

Alisaie frowned, leaning back in her chair and propped her chin in her hands as she thought on her friend’s words. “I suppose I’m simply surprised. Sometimes I forget that you are prone to the same emotions as we are.”

N’adana’s cheeks felt hot, “What, like I’m not a person? That because I’m the Warrior of Light that I should just be this perfect, flawless- “

“That’s not what I meant!”

N’adana went quiet as her eyes began to burn with tears, turning away from Alisaie to wipe them away.

“N’adana-“

“No one thinks about how I feel, do they? I’m expected to be this perfect hero with no flaws, ready to fight for Eorzea without a moment’s notice. No one notices when I’m angry, or uncomfortable, or sad, or… tired.” She sighed. Suddenly she was very tired. “I’m tired, Alisaie. I’m tired of being treated like I have to be this perfect person, just because I’ve killed a few primals or whatever.” She didn’t bear to look back, keeping herself turned away as she continued to sniffle and wipe tears from her cheeks.

Alisaie was quiet for a few moments, the only sound between them the sniffling of a scared, lonely child. Before she could speak again, Alphinaud returned with the soup he had promised.

“I’m back with – what happened?” he looked at his sister, who looked to be the guilty party. “Alisaie, what did you do?” Alphinaud hissed at her.

“I believe I’ve something to attend to.” The red mage muttered lamely, standing up and stalking off before N’adana managed the courage to turn back around.

Alphinaud tried to comfort N’adana about an argument he knew nothing about, but she didn’t give him anything to help his case. She simply thanked him for the soup and ate it quietly, avoiding his eyes as he waited to see if she opened up.

She didn’t.

Once Alphinaud left to find his sister (presumably for answers), N’adana simply rolled over and fell back asleep, trying to remember what it was like before she felt like everything and everyone depended on her.

[punchelf]

fog. hearing stay awake as they are carried to safety. 

@lynmars79

“Hey, stay with me Moni, stay awake.”

She doesn’t recognize the voice beside her, but it’s tight and it’s urgent and something is wrong. Her vision is blurry, but she can see the shapes of hyur, dark against the night sky filling with smoke above her. She tries to sit up, to look around, get her bearings, but a white hot lance through her abdomen pins her back down. Her hand brushes leather and wood, and she registers vaguely that she’s laying on a stretcher, being carried. Everything hurts - every breath and every bump of the stretcher agony. 

Then she hears the screams. Low, haunting wails of pain. High, piercing keens of grief. Fuck.

Moni tries to sit up again, gritting her teeth and groaning against the pain, but a firm hand on her shoulder pushes her back again.

“Stay still, lass, we’re almost there.”

The screams grow louder, and the night sky gives way to brightly lit stone. She can smell the sharp tang of blood and aether. The infirmary. The shapes jostle around her, and there’s something hard under her now. A solitary shape leans over her, prodding, murmuring. She feels the aether shift, flowing into her, like a warm summer wind, an embrace, lulling her away from the light and the noise and the pain.

Closing her eyes, she drifts, far away from an infirmary in Gyr Abania, back to a kitchen in Ul’dah...

“Stay with me little one…” She doesn’t know the voice. A woman is standing over her with kind eyes and a worried brow. “That’s good, look at me…”

“Twelve be merciful, what happened to her?” Another voice, tense, a man. She can’t see him, but when she tries to move her head to find him, a hand catches her chin.

“Don’t look down, little one, just look at me.” The woman is stroking her cheek now. Her hand is soft. Then she’s looking at the man, and her voice is tight. “I don’t know, but she’s in a real bad way. Can you stop the bleeding?”

“Aye… give me a hand… seven hells, what kind of monster…”

It’s the shifting of weight and aether beside her that first stirs her; the rough but gentle touch of a hand on her cheek that wakes her; and a low, familiar voice that causes her eyes to flutter open.

Raubahn is leaning over her, his brows furrowed, smiling softly. He caresses her cheek again, and it takes her a moment to realize that he’s wiping away tears.

“Hi…” she manages to croak. Her throat is dry, and she is suddenly aware of the dull, throbbing ache in every ilm of her body. 

“Good morning…” Raubahn smiles again, relief plain in the tilt of his brow, but his voice is tight with emotion. “You had us worried last night.”

Last night… Moni remembers then. Screams of pain and grief. Dirt soaked with blood. Flames and smoke choking the air. A taunting voice and flashing blade. Zenos. Fuck. He got away… 

She tries to sit up, ignoring the searing protestations of her body, snarling, seized by a sudden need to give chase. Raubahn’s hand catches her shoulder, though, firmly pressing her back onto the thin mattress of her infirmary cot.

“Let me go,” she growls, still trying to fight to sit up, but his grip is too strong, or she’s too weak, and he gives no sign of letting up. “I have to kill that bastard!” 

“You have to rest, Moni,” Raubahn replies, his voice soft but commanding. “Zenos is long gone. This is not a time for revenge; it is a time to regroup.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but the words catch in her throat as she sees the weariness creeping into his expression, the haunted look in his eyes. The gravity of what this loss must mean to him settles over her, crushing her under its weight. Her hand moves of its own accord to his cheek, caressing, holding. Her voice comes out as a rasping whisper. “Oh gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… We were too late… I wasn’t strong enough...”

“Nay,” he shakes his head, his expression darkening momentarily. Then she feels his jaw tighten under her palm, his eyes bright with fire and determination. “Blaming ourselves will accomplish nothing. This was a grave loss, aye, but we are far from the end of this war. We will rebuild, and we will keep pressing until we’ve driven every last Imperial from Gyr Abania.”

His voice is so steady, so sure, she has no choice but to believe him, and to love him for it. Sliding her hand to the nape of his neck, she pulls him closer, and he lets her, pressing his forehead to hers, still stroking her cheek. She doesn’t know if anyone can see them, and she doesn’t care. 

“You’re godsdamn right…” she whispers, holding his gaze so he can see the truth in her eyes. “And I will kill every last godsdamn Imperial in these mountains for you if I have to.”

He chuckles ruefully at that, shaking his head. “Of that, I have no doubt... But right now, my love, you will rest.”

She frowns and begins to grumble, but her protests are cut off by his lips pressing softly against hers, and she surrenders.

“Fine,” she whispers against his lips, “but I won’t like it…”

“I know,” he grins, and kisses her again.

The sound of someone clearing their throat barreled through their private moment, and Raubahn draws back as if he’s been struck by levin. Moni instinctively moves to sit up, managing to get herself as far as leaning on one elbow, seeking the source of the offending noise with murderous intent. Her eyes lands on Alphinaud, standing at the edge of the curtain surrounding her cot, posture stiff and wide eyes darting between her and Raubahn.

Fuck.

___

>> Ask Meme: Rest Prompts